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QUEEN SYLVIA 



Ain) 



OTHER POEMS. 



BY 

John Preston Campbell, 
li 

Author of "The Peri's Pardon/' and Other Poems. 



•0^0«' 



If 



CINCINlSrATI: 

KOBEET CLARKE & 00. 

1886. 

<<3 



]^ 



A^^ 

Q2 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1886, 

By JOHN PRESTON CAMPBELL, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 



THE AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 



The generous welcome, by kind friends and the 
poetry loving public, which has heretofore been be- 
stowed upon the author's literary efforts, has induced 
the publication of this second volume of his poetical 
works. In trusting it to the frail bark "Venture," 
upon the dangerous waves of public opinion, without 
the hand of an experienced pilot at the helm to guide 
to the landing of fame, seems little less than reck- 
less ; yet there is a destiny which urges on to action 
lovers of the muse, not at all times bounded by the 
landmarks of judicious judgment. The author consoles 
himself with the thought that perfection never appears 
in any work of man ; and the picture of an imperfect 
critic criticising an imperfect poem produces imper- 
fection, indeed — such as might cause a smile in the 
charmed circle of the celestials. A writer endeavors 
to please his readers — a critic would read his pleasers. 
The world presents a large list of bad authors; but 
by far, methiuks, a larger one of bad critics ; for many 
of the immortal productions of men were assailed at 
their birth by the flying darts of sarcasm and scorn, 
to go down to posterity emitting the brightest beams 
which light up the golden gallery of art. An author is 

(iii) 



iv PRE FA CE. 

supposed to be tlie personification of sense — the critic, 
a combination of withering witticisms; and yet there 
are forty men of wit to every four of wisdom in the 
world, and when tested by this rule it would seem that 
the writers have the advantage, for forty can afford to 
be wanting, while the other four attend to the wants 
of the wits. I have not written for fame, or to blur 
the beautiful pages of the ledger of life. I have 
written because I could not be inactive among so many 
masters marching to the music of the spheres, blending 
with that of the invisible choir which stands singing 
on the shore of the Sun Lands beyond. 

I make no plea for the favor of the public, be- 
lieving that that tribunal is the best judge of merit; 
and should a line be found in these pages worthy of 
living, perchance some seraph soul attuned to the 
muse's melody will write it on the scroll of American 
fame, long after this mortal form hath bowed to 
Fate's farewell, and the dawning breaks with beauty 
farther on. 

J. P. c. 

Abilene, Kansas, September, 1886. 



TO THE PUBLIC. 



A few of tlie poems contained in tMs collection 
have, heretofore, been published under the iwm-de-plume 
of Ai'thur E. Silverthorn. 

All rights are reserved. 

John Pkestox Ca^ipbell. 

(V) 



TO THE MEMORY OF 

MY DEAE MOTHER, 

THE SECOND VOLUME OF THESE POEMS 

Is very tenderly Dedicated. 

C. 
(vi) 



NOTE. 

None of these poems are contained in my former 
edition of Poetical Works. C. 

(Yii) 



CONTENTS. 



Proem xiii 

Queeu Sylvia 1 

The Exile 43 

The Maiden of the Glen 45 

Sir Beverly's Bride 48 

The Priest and the Peasant 51 

Eternity's Strand 54 

Caroldine 57 

Lines to My Mother 59 

Beyond the Crj-stal Sea 62 

Ode to the Goddess of Liberty 64 

Twenty Years 68 

Tlie Parting Kiss. 71 

Courting.. 72 

St. Peter's Task 73 

A Maiden of Delphi 76 

Ingersollia 78 

The Cuttle Crew 81 

Twenty Ladies on a Lark 85 

The Frigate Bird 88 

A Peri of the Pearly Strand 91 

The Field of Fancy 103 

A Tribute to the Poets 107 

Lines to Marianna 114 

Little Maud 116 

The Indian's Doom 118 

The Golden Age 120 

Time's Task 124 

A Madrigal 126 

The Folios of the Fathers 128 

The Lost Angel 131 

Pass not that Grave 135 

Dorothy Dobbins 138 

Left Behind to Die 141 

The Kingdom of Souls 144 

On Picket Guard 146 

Our Old Commander's Last Battle 149 

Hobbies 151 

"Liberty Enlightening the World,". .. ., 169 

Lady Leoline 172 

Babyland 175 

(ix) 



X CONTENTS. 

An Angel's Touch 178 

" Please, Papa, Slay at Home To-night " 181 

The Crimson Scroll 183 

Begging 186 

The Fisherman's Daughter 191 

Sold for Gold. 194 

The Fates and the Fairies 197 

The Pvhyme of the Rambler 200 

Goody Gibbs 208 

Words of Wisdom , 210 

The Drayman 213 

A Soldier of 1S12 215 

On the Ocean Strand 218 

Woman's Sphere. 220 

Memories of Other Days 222 

Love without a Kiss '■■■ 225 

"With Heartbeat and Drumbeat" 226 

The Raptures and Roses of Vice 228 

Friar Gomole 230 

A Child at Play ; 233 

Abe N orval 234 

The Lay of the Lovers 239 

Sliipper Jacli and Balla Whack 241 

The Convict 244 

Peter Pansy (a Song) 248 

The Harbor Lights 250 

Cora Lisle 252 

Four Sonnets — 

That Other Land 255 

By the Rappahannock 255 

The Sphinx 256 

The Rainbow 256 

The River Nile 258 

The Pilgrim of Love 260 

A Monarch Born 2G3 

Waiting for the May 264 

On the Shores of the Potomac 266 

The Lilies and Languors of Love 268 

Endalu ■. 271 

The Sportsmen and the Pigeons 274 

A Dirge 277 

Lines to Lottie 279 

The Harp of Gold 281 

As the Kight is Sinking 284 

The Poet 285 

A Walk at Eventide 287 

One by One 290 

Lines to Emma 291 

The Parting is Over 292 

The Falling of the Leaves 294 



CONTENTS. xi 

A Castle by the Sea 296 

The Fate of Five Hundred 298 

Sunshine and Shade SOO 

"The Apple Man" 302 

Judicial Murder 305 

Musing by aLalielet's Side 307 

To Carrie 309 

Stanzas 311 

The Pirate's Prayer 312 

Miss Polly Pipkins 318 

The Blue and the Gray 822 

Musing amid tlie Pines 325 

The Wind Harp's Wail 328 

Leneda's Lamb 330 

King Canute.. 335 

Remember while You May 338 

Maggie 's Drowned 340 

The Pauper's Ride 343 

Longing for the Sunset of Life 345 

1' m a Writer and a Rhymer 348 

" Put the Uaby in the Cradle, Maud," 350 

Miget of Northumbermoun 352 

De Land ob Glory (a Negro Melody) 353 

Love's Banquet 355 

Cheating the Preacher 358 

What 1 Saw and Heard 361 

"Honest Tim," 363 

The Stormy Petrel 366 

Nulena 368 

Three Angels of the Dawn 370 

Those Kickers 373 

The Tramp 377 

The Drunkard 379 

ADownyDell 383 

Harry Haydon 385 

The Witch of Hildon Hill 388 

Little Ida Freezing Alone 390 

Memorial Day 394 

Nanny Real (a Song) 396 

The Celestial Discord 398 

Seeking Death in the Wood 401 

Pocaliontas. 404 

A Sukey and a Sukeyist - 408 

Death is Coming 410 

Down to the River of Woe 412 

Billy O'Bane (a Song) 415 

What Are the Angels Doing ? 417 

Ancient Time 419 

The Braes O Braxted (a Song) 422 

^V'ithin those Rebel Prison Pens 424 



xii CONTENTS. 

AKiss 426 

Elina 428 

Broodingover Fallen Greatness 431 

A Mystic Man 434 

Widow V/ildamer's Wedding (a Song) 437 

A Pennyworth of Paradise 439 

Celestial Mirage 441. 

Lines to F. on her Eighteenth Birthday 443 

The Babe by the Brook 443 

Father Jarrtine 448 

A Merry Mortal ■ 451 

A Scul in Peril 450 

Menada Wice (a Song) 459 

Lady Auling 451 

The Aristocrat 402 

A Tribute to the Ladies' Temperance Union (of Bridgeport, Kan.), 405 

Threads of Gold 407 

The Disappointed Seraphim 409 

Hymn to Light 471 

Cupid 473 

Under these Dreamy Skies (an Italian Air). 470 

The Isles of the Acralies 478 

Dark the Billows. 480 

"Kisslng-Bridge," 4S2 

There is a God •. 484 

The Rocky Mountain Songstress 487 

The Secrets of the Sands 4S9 

Opinions of the Press 493 



PROEM. 

In these lines I sing 

Of Eden chimes and endless Spring ; 

Of fays and fairies frail ; 

Of boats that gliding sail 

From shore to shoals and shade, 

In the round of life's parade ; 

Of kings that sit in state ; 

Of beggars waiting at the gate ; 

Of lovers with liquid eyes, 

And peris of the skies ; 

As well as now and then 

Some bright, pearly gem 

Beyond the gates of Paradise. 

I sing of battles and of peace ; 
Of a lovely lamb, " Leneda's," 
With blood-stained fleece ; 
Of birds that never 'light ; 
Of men with clouded sight ; 
And of ladies just as fair 
As God's angels of the air ; 
But may be not as true. 
To determine, I leave the same to you 
Of murder, mirth, and madness ; 
Of pirates and their badness ; 
Of parliaments and lobbies ; 
Of mankind and their ' ' hobbies ; " 
Of males without a mate ; 
Of lovely brides on fair hillsides 

(xiiij 



siv PRQEM. 

Clasped to ugly Fate ; 
Of suicide and crime ; 
Of priests men thought divine ; 
Of witches, wolds, and ways, 
Where waif and wanderer strays ; 
Of the high and of the low, 
The proud, the poor, the rich, 
Mingling in life's onward flow 
On the throne and in the ditch. 

In short I 've run the round 

Throughout the range of sound, 

From " Sylvia" to " The Secrets of the Sands," 

In this and other lands ; 

And oft I 've thought the song 

Or music must be wrong ; 

For the cadence and the rhyme 

With the measure would n't chime ; 

But a note of seeming gold 

My ear would sometimes reach, 

As it earthward rolled 

From the celestial beach ; 

And so I 'd write at morn and night 

Till weary was my aching sight ; 

For the pleasure it brought divine, 

Mingling with the muses nine. 

But you hardly care to know 

What prompted this irregular flow 

From a heart touched with the muse's wand 

That never will be still, till under broken land. 

So with these words I send adrift 

This second feeble gift 

Upon the wave of public thought, 

To receive the award it ouo-ht. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

[Queen Sylvia, having dcciderl to hold a grand festival, the naiads 
repair to a fairy grotto on tlie banks of the river Rhine. Jubilant in 
spirits, they spend the day making preparations for the coming fete; 
while their queen employs the golden moments in quest of worthy 
mortals. Calling to her aid Angelica and Celcstine (Goddess of Love 
and Justice), she resorts to various expedients, seeking thereby to 
discover the truly deserving, who alone arc rewarded with an invita- 
tion. The queen assumes the garb of a beggar for the purpose of 
teaching a lesson of love to the heartless Miss Gaiety, and thro\ys 
open the portals of her kingdom to the generous Eileen, who would 
care for and comfort the hungry. Like a guardian angel she enters a 
lonely glen, during a terrible thunder-storm, to protect an orphan 
girl. Fairies, imps, and angels are drawn aronnd her by the gentle 
mildness of her nature. As the last farewells are spoken, Luna 
(Queen of Night) floats through the air and reigns supremo.— C] 

(XY) 



QUEEN SYLVIA. 



THE ARGUMENT. 



This poem opens with the appearance of Aurora (Goddess of 
Morning) winging over the hill-tops, ushering in the world's new 
day. Nymphs and Naiads greet her with songs of cheer. Starlight 
(Que.en of Fairies) descends from the clouds, sings a celestial lay, and 
hides her face beneath the shadow of her wing; when suddenly ap- 
pear fays and fairies to hail the smiling morn. Leopert (King of 
Dryads) is attracted by the singing, and bends his footsteps thither- 
ward; he is entertained by Lenaline (Sylvia's maid of honor), and 
conducted to a fairy grotto near the Rhine, while the naiads sing their 
welcome.— C. 



CANTO FIRST. 



Lovely Aurora, hail, 

Hail, sweet goddess of morning : 

We send greeting on the gale 

Whilst thou art the hill-tops adorning ; 

And Night's dismal bolts, 

Like winged Pegasus'i^ colts, 

Instant fly from out the sky. 

As thy light illumined garments sweepeth by. 

And taper fingers red 

Ope the gates of day 

Instant to thy noiseless tread 

Walking down the Milky-way. 



* Pegasus: a winged steed, belonging to Apollo and the Muses; 
supposed to have sprung from the blood of Medusa, when she was 
slain.— C. 



CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

n. 

Hail, thou queen of light, 

Bedecked with amber pearls 

All shining bright, 

And mirrored in mists of liquid gold 

Scarce visible to the mortal sight ; 

Of whom Tradition's nymphs have told, 

With pencil on the green. 

With sea foam on the sheen, 

With i-ainbow hues 

That melt in mildest dews ; 

And sparkling water-falls. 

And ancient dryads, 

Draped like dolls ; 

With silvery sounding sails 

That tacked and veered 

To meet the changing gales, 

Which somehow blow 

And noiseless go 

Across Life's shining sands. 

To the regions and the tediums 

Of the dreamless lands. 

ni. 

The nymphs have gathered on the lawn, 

Making merry with dance and song ; 

Up from slumber sweet 

The smiling morn to greet. 

Tripping wary, trij)ping airy. 

Goes each little fairy, 

Singing songs of sweetest praise. 

To the Daylight's breaking rays. 

IV. 

The water-falls are sparkling. 



qUEE^' SFLVIA. 

While the lakes and dells lie darkling ; 
Throwing from off their silvered tides 
The brightest and the fau-est gems 
That in the land abides ; 
Moistening the valley hems, 
And lofty mountain sides ; 
While round about is stealing 
Music from the morning bells; 
Sweetly, softly pealing 
To the zephyr's swells. 
Which go floating by, 
As we greet, with music sweet, 
Aurora's coming in the sky. 

V. 

Over the bed of ocean far 

Ride sea nymphs in a car, 

Who take up the strain 

And waft it back to heaven again. 

Startling the mermaid from her lair. 

And the water spirit from his prayer ; 

Robed in gauzy garments, light 

As the Eden angels used to wear, 

Before the Serpent's blight 

Drove them wandering into night- 

Away from Paradise so fair. 

VI. 

Hail, smiling Morn, 

The sunlight is throwing 

A sort of golden glowing 

The hill-tops among ; 

Like reaper sowing 

Grain upon the ground. 

Amid the sUent hush of sound : 



CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

In fairest flakes it falls 

Over mouutaiu-tops 

Aud water-falls ; 

Like those liquid drops* 

Wliieli from heaven stops, 

Amid the aii'S of June, 

Death's terrible ravages 

In the cheek of bloom. 

Hail, thou Queen of IMoruing, 

Earth's new day adorning, 

We bid thee hail. 

vn. 

Aurora came floating then 

Over mountain, meadow, glen, 

While at her golden girdle's hem, 

Hung a bugle bright 

Which she upraised ■with gesture light 

And blew a single note, 

That made the wood nymphs fly and float 

Quickly out of view ; 

Like mists of morning dew, 

'^^^len the god of day 

Beams on his endless way 

Which round and round doth run, 

As when this orb of clay 

Into space swung. 

vin. 
Starlight, queen of faii'ies. 
Just descending then 
From out the clouds, 



*The Nucta, or Miraculous Drop, which falls in Egypt precisely 
on St. Johu's Day, in June, and is supposed to liave the effect of stop- 
ping the plague.— MoOKE. 



QUEEN SYLVIA. 

Sung this solo when 
The angel of day 
Dofft her celestial shrouds 
And hid her face away 
For a little minute ; 
As if the thrill of heaven 
Still was in it : 
Which she softly sung 
To the listening linnet : 
"A bright little fairy am I, 
Casting light thro' the sky ; 
Swift as the wind I roam, 
Fetterless, free as the ocean's foam, 
I go glinting along, 
Cheering the traveler's tread 
With the light that I shed, 
Over the lily bells 
And mossy dells, 
I flit away. 
Singing merrily, Tra, la, la. 

IX. 

" In the fathomless folds of air, 
Out of light, out of sight, 
I climb a glittering stair ; 
When the morning light is breaking. 
Up and on my journey taking, 
Whose pathless winding 
Is past your finding ; 
For to mortal eyes 
My native skies 
Are so blinding, 
That you 'd never find 
Me in the clouds enshrined, 
They are so winding. 



CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

Oh ! now I must haste away, 

And hide my face from the smiling day, 

While I sing, Tra, la, la." 



Then Starlight hid her face, 

Then paused and said her grace, 

And flitted from the place ; 

When suddenly appearing 

Came fays and fairies veering, 

Lightly tripping on 

With laughter and with song 

To hail the smiling morn. 

This instant come 

To gild the glorious portals 

Of Sylvia's kingdom. 

Within were voices singing, 

And without Avere echoes ringing. 

For Naiads numberless you see 

All gathered were 

To pay royal fealty 

To their queen so fair ; 

While thus in laughter's train 

They poured the sweet refrain : 

XI. 

" Merrily sing we on the green 
Joyous greeting to our queen : 
With hearts so light and free 
Let joy and sorrow banished be. 
And every voice the strain prolong ; 
While angels echo back the song. 
Echo back the song. 
From the golden door 
Of a deathless dawn." 



qUEEN SYLVIA. 

xn. 

Whereat Sylvia's maid of honor, 
Lovely and graceful Lenaline, 
With a bright gilt badge upon her, 
Accompanied by gentle Nectarine, 
Her trusty attendant, 
Mingling their voices, sent 
The happy chorus round : 
" Hark to the musical sound 
The shining spheres are making, 
While thro' the depths of space profound 

Their journey they are taking, 

The morning sun to see, 

As he shines on meadow and on lea ; 

As sweet music afar 

From a celestial car 

Kings over land and sea. 

With never a discord's jar 

In the merry minstrelsy. 

Prithee, Lord, if there be 

Grace for fairies free, 

O ! won't thou give it we ? " 

XIII. 

Cometh Leopert, King of Dryads, 
Listening as he wends. 
Saying in softest silvery speech 
"This way the voice descends 
Upon my enraptured ears. 
Like music from the spheres ; 
Caroled loudly, caroled lowly, 
As if the heavenly choristers holy 
Had blended all their voices in 
The raptures of the hymn. 
Which in this sylvan glade 



CAMPBELL- S POEMS. 

Such tumult in my breast hath made ; 

For never falls a note 

From any warbling throat 

That enraptures me 

Like this seraphic psalmody, 

Which so sweetly fell 

Upon my listening ear 

As I entered the dell, 

Some roods from here." 

XIV. 

Thus answered Lenaline, 
In charming speech divine : 
"Whence cometh thou, stranger, 
Along this way of danger ? 
And who art thou 
Entering the sylvan shadow now? 
What adventure dost thou seek, 
By this shaded inland creek ? 
Where in the peaceful eventide 
Fishes sport upon its silvery tide, 
And the tuneful bii-ds about the dell 
Sing their lovely carol 
To the shining stars 
And golden bars. 
Interlaced in a silvery braid 
Beyond the green arcade, 
Spreading above our heads 
Like amber tipped curtains 
Round Naiad's beds." 

XV. 

"Hast thou not somewhere read 
In running brooks or clover bed 
Of the immortal Drvads free ? 



qVEEN SYLVIA. 

I 'm their king, come here to sing 

Of love and joy, life's alloy, 

Like a merry hearted boy : 

When other kings torment 

The subject 's discontent, 

Till mutual hate or frowning fate 

A tumult doth create, 

And is broken the guarded gate." 

XVI. 

"But why dost wander away 
So far from your land 
At break of day. 
With no page at hand ? 
Over this enchanted way, 
This fairy ground. 
Where every mound 
Is a Naiad's throne, 
Eeared to immortals alone ? " 

xvn. 
"Angel fair, I have heard. 
Upon my word. 
That jewels rare 
Are hid in caves 
Below the water's waves ; 
So I have come 
To gather some 
For the adorning of my kingdom." 

xvra. 
"Then follow me 
With footsteps free. 
While spirits of the mighty Rhine 
Turn back the key, 



10 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

That my kingdom's shine 

May fall on the king and his company." 

Whereat she strikes 

A row of golden spikes, 

Which like magic change 

The stalactite sights ; 

And in they range 

'Neath grottoes green 

And coral work so bright, 

'Mid the shimmer and the sheen 

Of effulgent light. 

XIX. 

Whereat the Naiads sing, 
" Welcome to the Dryad king, 
And good Lenaline, 
Welcome 'neath the portals shine. 
Hope's bright angel now 
Lays her turban on thy brow, 
Glittering o'er with gems, 
Plucked from golden stems, 
Which here and there doth grow 
'Round about the hidden portals 
In an endless row. 

XX. 

"Hail, to our hall. 
Where no selfish life 
Doth appall, doth appall, 
In the endless strife, 
Where mortals rise and fall. 
Hail, to the silent shade 
Of our greenwood colonade ! 
Hail, to our garden's sweetest spells ! 
Which bud and bloom 



qUEEN SYLVIA. H 

Within moss grown dells. 

Moss grown dells ; 

Let fancy all thy soul embower 

In this heaven of bloom and flower." 



THE ARGUMENT. 



Sylvia and attendants appear, whom the Naiads hail with songs 
of greeting. Leopert pledges faith and constancy to the queen. She 
trusts and assures him of her fidelity. Enter gypsies, with their 
king, Leadulous, merrily singing. Gypsy Jane sings a song, followed 
by Estralelda, who tells of the changeful fate of bachelor and belle, 
and invites mortals from the monotonous splendors of palatial halls 
to her beautiful greenwood retreats. — C. 



CANTO SECOND. 



I. 

Enter Sylvia with her retinue, 
Arrayed in gorgeous garments, 
Sparkling like the dew. 
With wreath, and bead, and blossom fair, 
Strung on golden threads about them there 
When instant they begin the lay : 
"Hail, hail, we say. 
Hail, to our beautiful queen. 
Now coming this way. 
Like the cheering sunbeam, 
To gladden the day. 

n. 

* ' Joy in each bosom is swelling 
With pleasure and bliss beyond telling 
At the approach of our beautiful queen 



12 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

To arbors and gi-ottoes of givou ; 
To our sweet shaded dells 
xVud the spirit of spells. 
Which no mortal may kuo^Y ; 
While startUnl >Yith knells 
Fivm the t'unenil show 
Along the lone Avay, 
Wheiv the last clay 
Of mortals doth g\>." 

in. 

Leopert, King of Dryads, speaks, 
With blushes on his cheeks : 
"Thou lovely queen, 
This saber's silver sheen 
And stivng right arm, 
Tho' friends forstvke 
Or foes alarm, 
And this souVs devotion 
Ever shall W thine. 
Ever shall be thine. 
To shield thee from all harm, 
Thiv' earth's mad emotion. 
And the ciivle of our charm, 
Eound about the silver Khine. 
And this gayly tasseled badge shall be 
An emblem of love's true loyalty : 
By this token bright and free, 
In the verge of the northern light, 
I swear eternal laith to thee." 

" Most noble king. 
To thee I bring 
This heai't of artless sriiile. 



qUEEN STL VIA. 13 

Blest be the day 

You came this way 

In search of woman's smile. 

Tho' encompassed round with danger, 

Tho' friends forsake or foes alarm, 

I'll trust thee, noble stranger, 

To shield me from all harm, 

To shield me from all harm." 



' Then trust in me, 
My queen so free, 
And the loyal fealty 
Of all my subjects now. 
Which to thee doth bow. 
Dryads from every grove 
And ocean cove, 
Kneel to thy queen. 
Kneel to thy queen." 

VI. 

Then Dryads, Nymphs, and Naiads sing : 
' Hail, hail, to our beautiful queen. 
Let the chorus fill the sky 
And the western wind 
As it passeth by ; 
Bear to heaven's golden street 
Our happy shout and cry. 
Hail, hail, to our beautiful queen." 

VII. 

Near the grotto's shade. 
On a sylvan glade. 
Enter a band of gypsies. 
With their king, Leadulous, 



14 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

Who sweetly sing, sweetly sing, 
Of the wood, the wold, the sky, 
The pebbly brook, running by ; 
Caring not for fame 
Or any such a name 
Among the Avealthy grand, 
Who go lording thro' the land, 
Thro' the laud. 

vm. 

' ' Tho' humble be our fare, 
We glean it anywhere. 
With hearts so light and free, 
So light and free ; 
Singing merrily, merrily. 
Till the day is over 
And the new mown clover 
Wafts its fragrance round 
Amid the humming sound 
Of birds and bats and bees. 
While at night we gather 
'Neath the forest trees. 
In all sorts of weather. 
To join the jubilee. 
With hearts so light and free, 
So light and free. 

IX. 

" When the evening bells are ringing 
With the gypsies we are singing, 
'ISTeath the bright moonlight. 
Falling over brook and over lea. 
Rippling, rhyming to our minstrelsy. 
And when the stars do glisten 
Folks will sit and listen 



qUEEN SYLVIA. 15 



To our woodland lays, 
Echoed over the braes 
Upward to the king of heaven, 
Till the clocks strike six or seven. 

X. 

"Was there ever a fairer land 
Or a happier band 
Gathered in the shade. 
Gathered on the glade. 
To sweetly sing 
And meekly fling 
Care and sorrow to the wind? 
Not for jewels or for gold, 
Not for halls of wealth untold, 
Would we change our liberty, 
So light and free. 
So light and free. 
For all the gilded glimmer 
Of your fairest city. 

XI. 

" We 're a merry gypsy band. 
Roaming from land to land ; 
Tireless as the skylark's wing 
Our songs we sing : 
Never fearing hate, 
Never courting love. 
All heedless of a bed. 
Spread by angel hands above. 
The fattest deer of lord or peer, 
From park or fell. 
Supplies us well. 
Supplies us well. 
Our drink is light, 



IG CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

S|):irkrmu' \v:itvr bright; 
Our walks :iro iVoo 
As wulo inlinily. 
TluMi lot us siuL!,-, uayly sing-, 
'l\) llio talkiiiii' tiinbivl's sti'iug, 
For wo 'ro a luorry band, 
Making luuslo dm)' (ho laud, 
Thro' tlio land." 

XII. 

Instant from the orowd 
Outsto[>[)od (iypsy <Iano and bowed, 
S\vt>olly sinjiinu', swootly siny-iuLi,', 
Whilo Iho oohoos still woro rinsriuff: 
"I'm a niorry, morry maid; 
My woodland iionio is in tlio glade, 
The groon, groon glado. 
Fortunes I somotimos toll 
Ovor onp and ovor pan. 
And my ballads 1 sell 
To AvUomsoo'or I can. 
For love's rich grooms 
I 'vo sweet perfumes, 
And maidens who ooniplain 
Of any sort of pain. 
Have but to toueh the hand 
Of little Gy}isy Jane, 
Of little Cypsy Jane. 

XIII. 

** Allien the dew is on the corn. 
Like a merry, merry lark. 
My singing greets the morn. 
Thro' tiie ilay-light and the dark : 
I go spreailing smiles 



(.IVEE:^ SYLVIA. 17 



And artlfeSH guiles 
Arourifl tho dairy rnaif], 
Daily f]oorn(;fi to want 
Within the shade ; 
But every laas within the land, 
May win a hashand and a name, 
If she '11 only toueh the hand 
Of little Gypsy Jane, 
Of little GypBy Jane. 

xrv. 

'Then Hin^f the chorus 'iv<-s: ; 
Come sing it now with me, 
Like a light-hearted chickadee 
That flits from tree to tree ; 
The world may journey on 
All heedless of my song, 
Thro' its care and strife ; 
Out of death into life, 
And never name my name ; 
For it matters not at all 
Whether winds rise or fall 
To little Gypsy Jane, 
To little Gypsy Jane." 

XV. 

Then Estralelda, graceful, tall, 
Queen of Gypsias, one and all. 
With light stfjp on the grass, 
Tliat woke no echo's sound, 
And reed-haq; in her liand 
She t^x)k up the lay 
And joined tlie singing hand. 
And with lightest touch did pky 
This rich, rare roundelay. 

(2; 



18 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

XVI. 
"I'm a merry minstrel, 
From the shades of gleeful land ; 
With my tuneful distrel 
I walk the golden sand 
The golden sand. 

xvn. 
* ' Where'er I chance to be, 
In town or tower. 

The world pays its homage unto me 
At the midnight hour, 
The midnight hour. 

XVIII. 

"I sing of love at the garden gate, 
And of changeful fortune tell ; 
I read in the moon's soft beams 
The fate of bachelor and belle, 
Of bachelor and belle. 

XIX. 

"I've a kindly smile for all. 
My couch is sj^read in a shady bower, 
On the top of this floating ball. 
Guarded by seraphs at the midnight hour, 
At the midnight hour. 

XX. 

"And at dawning of the day 
I often peep thro' the curtain's sweep 
When late lovers homeward stray, 
To see how true hearts will adore, 
Will adore. 



qUEEN SFLVIA. 19 



XXI. 

" Would you this riddle read? 
Then come with the gypsy queen 
And lead the life we lead 
When the light is on the green, 
Is on the green. 

xxn. 
"Then come with the gypsy queen, 
Change dull life in palatial halls 
For the moonlight's gleam, 
Near sparkling water-falls, 
Sparkling water-falls." 



THE ARGUMENT. 



Miss Gayety (a fashionable belle) appears before the Naiads, com- 
menting on her fix-ups, etc. Enter Sylvia, in the garb of a beggar, 
asking a,lms. Whereat Miss Gayety, with a waft of her jeweled hand, 
scornfully bids her begone; when Eileen (a sympathetic girl), who is 
passing, offers to comfort and provide for her. Thereupon Sylvia 
throws off her disguise, rebukes the belle, and rewards the generous 
Eileen with an introduction to her kingdom. Sylvia sends her herald, 
Evander, to Circe (Queen of Wonderland), that she may dispatch her 
warrior imps in haste to capture and subdue a strange tribe of mor- 
tals who infest the forests nearby. Circe complies with the request, 
and hastens thitherward under the leadership of Pilacus. Merry 
children enter, singing, with Lillian (the lily girl) selling lilies. The 
lilies sold, the children sit down to feast on the green, when they are 
startled by the imps and driven away, but soon return to seek Perilla, 
who had remained under a charm, when the imps, waving their 
wands, put them all to sleep. Sylvia floats over the scene at mid- 
night, and promises to awaken them in a brighter dawn. — C. 



CANTO THIRD. 
I. 



At this there came 
A fashionable belle, 
Miss Gayety by name, 
Swinging down the dell, 



20 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

With her fix-ups on, 
Right from Bon-Ton. 
And when she saw 
The lack of etiquette's law, 
Thus she spoke to them, 
Staring back again : 

II. 

"Doubtless, you think me gay? 
But then 't is nothing but my way. 
I like those fix-ups fine. 
Which make the butterfly to shine. 
I like to laugh and flirt, 
But then I never hurt 
Any one who knows 
The difference between fine 
And shoddy clothes. 

m. 

' ' Look at that, look at this. 
O ! aint I quite a miss ? 
And what would n't you give 
For one harmless little kiss ? 
Just look here, just look there, 
At my laces and ringlets rare. 
O ! I like to see you stare. 

IV. 

" My cheeks are fresh and fair, 
Golden is my golden hair. 
O ! I 'm the parish queen 
In the light of fashion's gleam ; 
Startling all the town 
With my bonnet and my gown. 
And the people look and cry 



qUEEN SYLVIA. 21 

' Who is she ? who is she ? ' 
As I pass them by. 

V. 

"Now, don't you envy me, 

The pampered pet of frivolity ? 

Dressed so very fine 

In flounce and crinoline ? 
' Who is she ? who is she ? ' 

AU the people cry : 
' Just look, I hope to die ! ' 

And they heave a sigh 

As I pass them by." 

VI. 

Then Sylvia, dressed as beggars be, 

Saith : ' ' For the love of charity 

Some pity show to me ; 

I 've wandered late and lorn, 

I've wandered all forlorn. 

Begging from door to door, 

Across the marsh, across the moor. 

The wind blows cold. 

The night is coming on. 

And I may sleep on the frozen wold, 

Stark and dead, ere the daylight dawn. 

! give me some bread and let me be gone. 

VII. 

"My lady grand, with your purse and gold, 
Please shelter this form from the storm 
And the night wind cold ; 
For the angels will bless 
If you comfort distress, 
Tho' the object be crippled and old. 



22 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

Lady, my lady, so fine, 
A penny^ one penny, I crave in charity 
From that jeweled hand of thine ; 
Then give, O give it me." 

VIII. 

But Miss Gayety, the belle, 

Turned with a disdainful swell 

Away from the beggar so poor, 

Houseless, alone on the bleak moor, 

While her ribbons and lace 

Flaunted scorn in her face. 

Not a penny she gave. 

But with gesture and wave 

Of her godless hand 

She pointed the beggar away from her stand, 

As if like some fiend of the air 

She 'd entered without bidding there. 

IX. 

Eileen, passing the glade. 

With generous joart 

Came to her aid. 

Saying : " I '11 comfort thy heart 

And fill thee with cheer ; 

Then follow my steps 

And sip of some wine bright and clear." 

X. 

Then Sylvia took Eileen's hand, 
Saying, with gushing heart 
And a voice of command : 
"Eileen, thy kind, loving soul 
Hath earned a rich reward. 
Over yonder bright stream 



qUEEN SYLVIA. 23 

My kingdom's portals doth gleam : 

Within my fairy boat 

We '11 sail and float 

Where thy enraptured eyes 

May see ^dsions of beauty 

Beaming in love's sides ; 

But this heartless thing, 

With amber tipped wing, 

Never shall know 

The bliss of the world where we go." 

XI. 

They enter Sylvia's gondola, 

And sailing glide away 

Over the rippling tide, 

Like swan upon its way. 

Sao. on, sail on, into the dawn, 

Sail on, I say. 

For not an ear on earth may hear 

Thy shallop on the spray ; 

And soft sUvery bells 

Are ringing in the swells 

Which blow through blooms of May 

From Sylvia's shaded deUs. 

xn. 
They land upon the green, 
Eileen and the Naiad queen, 
While their golden boat 
With silvery chain doth float, 
Anchored on the waters clear, 
Reflecting shades and shapes 
Of that bright shore, 
Gleaming with golden ore 
In the mystic sphere. 



24 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

Where mirthful Naiads 
Hold their cheer. 

xin. 
To Circe, Queen of Wonderland, 

Hies Sylvia's herald, 
Evander, so free, 
Who executes her command 
With the speed of a chickadee, 
. And doth meek obeisance make 
For her royal sake, 
Saying : ' ' The Naiad queen 
Waits yonder on the green. 
And has sent me here to say 
A strange tribe of mortals 
In yonder forest doth stray, 
And begs that your warriors bold 
May haste across the wold 
With magic wands 
In all their hands, 
To charm them into sleep, 
That she may gain 
And thus retain 
An army in her keep." 
The message said, 
A courtesy he made, 
And sj)eeding back to Sylvia, 
Before her the answer laid. 

XIV. 

Then Circe rallies up her imps, 
Who, led by Pilacus, 
At her bidding, flies and limps. 
Saying: "Attention! warriors brave, 
Come from the woodlands. 



qVEEN SYLVIA. 25 



Come from the cave, 

Come in hasty bands, 

With weapons in your hands ; 

For in yonder forest see, 

'Neath each shady tree, 

A strange tribe of mortals be, 

Which the Queen of Naiads fain 

Would transport back 

To her kingdom again. 

XV. 

"When the bilberry bells 
Chime out their swells 
Twelve times ten, 
Haste to the forest glen. 
And with magic wands 
Charm those sleeping bands. 
Warriors, hearken unto me. 
Should the night owl be 
Nodding on his tree, 
And ope his beak. 
With horrid shriek, 
To frighten you away ; 
Or come the worst that may betide 
Your trusty swords untried 
May scatter death's stream wide 
Along its way. 
March fearless forward then 
To meet these herds of men. 
Peacefully sleeping now 
In yonder glen." 

XVI. 

The imps are gone 
(3) 



CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

And Circe siugs, 

Wending among 

Beantiful things 

In the temple of God, 

Out of doors, 

Where nature here lavishments pours 

To the peasant that plods 

And the lordling that soars, 

While the notes of her tune 

Mingled with the soft showering silver 

That flows from the moon. 

XVII. 

" I long lightly to fly 
Where the roses are shining 
Under the azure blue sky. 
And love is reclining, 
With never a word of repining, 
And there sip the pleasures of joy 
From bright golden urns, 
That no mixture of earth's alloy 
Their brilliancy turns. 
And list to the sighs 
That instant doth rise 
From love's bosom swelling, 
And hear the strange things 
The cupids are telling. 
Yes, dear Sylvia, 
With thee would I fly 
To learn something more of thy kingdom 
And the way that leads thereby." 



xvm. 
Circe is flown. 



Come merry children, singing. 



QUEEN SYLVIA. 27 



In childhood's sweet tone : 
" Over the meadows and mountains 
Sparlde the clear crystal fountains 
That ever doth shine 
Like crown of the angels divine, 
Thro' the flowery perfume, 
Filling the freshness of earth 
With their dewy sweet bloom. 

XIX. 

" Let every heart rejoice ; 
Sound the chorus every voice, 
Up the glen and down the glen. 
For we have no cares like men. 
With us joy soothes every pain, 
We sing and laugh and sing again." 

XX. 

Upon a bank not far away, 

Where the children laughing lay, 

Resting from their play. 

Came tripping light 

Lillian, the lily girl, 

Selling ' ' Lilies pure and white, 

Lilies pure and bright. 

Who '11 buy lilies of me ? 

The sweetest lilies that ever you see : 

Grown at the water's edge. 

Amid greenest foliage. 

Who '11 buy a lily now 

For her true lover's brow ? 

Charmada is waiting for me. 

And mamma wants help for the tea : 

Who '11 buy a lUy of me?" 



28 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

XXI. 

Her lilies all sold, 
They sit clown on the wold 
For luncheon and love, 
Envied by the angels above ; 
Their baskets well filled. 
With contents hastily spilled 
And scattered neatly around 
On the carpeted ground. 
Enter from the shoals, 
Within the shades, 
A band of merry imps 
From the greenwood glades. 
Who frighten the children away 
With their noisy play : 
When Perilla, one of the girls 
From the village quite near, 
Said : ' ' Who art thou come here 
Thus rudely unasked ? 
Would you drive us in fear 
Prom our picnic's repast ? " 
Whereat the merry imj)s dance 
In a circle around, 
And hastily quit the ground. 
But ere they went, 
By some strange intent, 
They wove a charm 
Round about Perilla, 
For she sang this simple lay : 
"I see the world go shining 
Adown the grooves of day ; 
To sleep I 'm inclining 
And silently floating away." 



qUEEN SYLVIA. 29 

xxn. 

The children quick return, 

Something of Perilla to learn, 

And the imps gather there, 

Waving wands in air. 

In a kind of pantomime 

And trance divine 

Which charms them all to sleep ; 

While the fairies watch 

Over the sleepers keep. 

And Circe, Queen of Wonderland, 

With her magic wand, 

Sings the charm complete. 

XXIII. 

' They are sleeping at my feet, 
While o'er each drowsy sense I reign 
Queen of Wonderland's domain. 
So shall they sleeping lie 
Till moonlight drapes the earth and sky, 
And all the stars peep out, 
Shedding their softened rays about : 
Then I'll wake them, and they 
SliaU go scampering away." 

XIV. 

'T is the middle of the night. 

And Sylvia floating light. 

Above the sleeper's sight, 

Says : "In my kingdom they shall land 

With the fairest of my band ; 

Beautiful vistas there to see. 

Filled with shining light 

As bright as golden apples 

On a golden tree. 



30 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

And fountains ever flowing, 
Wonderful past mortal knowing ; 
And tapestry so fine, 
Fashioned by fairy fingers 
Of the ether line. 
Sleep, gentle dreamers, 
Sleep on in this desolate grove. 
For shall break a brighter dawn 
In the sun-lauds of Jove." 



THE ARGUMENT. 



Tis night, A thunder-storm sweeps over a lonely glen. Myra (an 
orphan girl) wanders forth, desolate and alone, bemoaning her con- 
dition. Tired and o'ercome, she sinlcs down to rest on a damp mossy 
bank, trusting in God. Some holy impulse leads Sylvia to the place. 
Slie soliloquizes over her, promising comfort and rest, and calls Angel- 
ica and Celestine (Goddesses of Love and Justice) to her aid, whom she 
dispatclics to the celestial sphere for food and raiment. They shortly 
return, provided with both. The scene changes revealing the fairy 
grotto, and an angel floats through the air amid a shower of gold. 
Circe waves her magic wand and awakens the sleepers, who join the 
happy company, and are welcomed by Sylvia. Leopert repledges his 
love, while tlie Naiads applaud and speak of departing, because of the 
nearness of the morn. Dewdrop (Queen of Fays) is attracted with 
Amber and Emerald (two fairies), who sing a song. Diamond also 
comes from Fairyland to pay the queen his dues. A band of angels 
greet the company from above. Leopert and Sylvia sing a duet, 
assisted by the whole company on the chorus, when farewells are ex- 
changed and the grand fete ends. Luna (Goddess of Night) floats 
over the scene and bids silence reign.— C. 



CANTO FOURTH. 



'Tis a lonely glen. 
Unfrequented by foot of men ; 
The thunder rumbles through 
The seamed and torn blue 
Of the angry sky. 



QUEEN SYLVIA. 31 

Myra, an orphan girl, 

Wanders forth with a heavy heart, 

Sick enough to die, 

As the mantel of night falls 

With somber shado^\ on the soul, 

And chills and appalls 

So many friendless ones, 

Waiting at the door of destiny's goal. •-- 

The orphan goes wandering along. 

Desolate, drenched with the rain, 

And this is the plaint of her song 

Wrung from a heart full of pain : 

n. 

"Lost in the woods, 
Out in the storm, 
I've wandered for roods 
Just to keep myself warm. 
All friendless I wend 
And lonely I roam. 
Caring not whither I tend, 
For no way leads to my home ; 
And no one answers my cry. 
So dark is the desolate night, 
The wild storm rages high ; 
E'en the ghosts hide from my sight 
As I pass them by. 

m. 

"Thro' all the weary day 
I wandered in the street ; 
The sport of the wind's play 
With tender bleeding feet. 
But, alas ! no one pitied me, 
No one gave a crumb to "eat : 



32 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

My parents died in penury, 

Toiling to dress these weary feet. 

But now there 's no one to love, 

And the night cometh on : 

O ! if there 's a star world above, 

Throw this way thy dawn. 

Tired and outdone 

My limbs are growing numb, 

Cold grows my breast ; 

I '11 lay me down on this mossy bank 

Where the verdure grows dank, 

And ask my Father in heaven for rest." 

IV. 

Queen Sylvia strays abroad 

By the light of the lightning's blaze, 

Led by the good hand of God 

To where Myra lies sleeping ; 

While the spirits of the storm are keeping 

Their wet watch alone. 

Cheered by the thunder's deep tone ; 

And thus, with tenderest speech, 

A lesson to selfish mortals doth teach : 

V. 

" Poor wanderer, thou 
Hast strayed from the paths of comfort somehow. 
But no danger shall here molest. 
Sleep on, in visions of slumber rest : 
I '11 spread this rain-proof robe of mine 
About thy angel form. 
While the light of heaven doth shine 
Down through the darkness and storm : 
Then rest and roam with the blest 
Thro' varying vistas of mind. 



q UEKN S FL VIA. 33 

When nature's wild unrest 
Is passed o'er 
Thou shalt forever find 
Best on the golden shore." 

VI. 

Sylvia summons Angelica away 

From realms where love's cupids stray ; 

She, their loyal queen, 

To the deep wood green : 

And Celestine, goddess of justice true, 

Down the dome of heaven flew 

At Sylvia's command, 

Alighting one on either hand ; 

While thus in softest accents she did say 

To fair Celestine and mild Angelica : 

vn. 
" Behold this shelterless form. 
An angel 's out in the storm : 
Bring her rich robes to wear 
From the celestial weavers up there, 
That are soft, fail', and fine 
As these laced robes of thine. 
O ! haste to the gates ajar, 
For above the clouds 
Beams brightly the northern star ; 
And if thou speed'st away 
Thou ma/st return 
Ere the breaking day. 

vrn. 

" Out of the fold. 
Out in the cold. 
But a mother's face smiles 



34 CAMPBELLS POEMS, 

Over the Avorld and its wiles, 
To guide thee above 
To reahus of peace aud love, 
Where angels will fold 
Earth's weary wanderers 
In robes that are warm, 
From the sleet and the storm, 
Under roofs of bright gold." 

IX. 

She ceases, the scene changes. 
Revealing the Naiad's grotto fair, 
While an angel floats thro' the air; 
As from far distant ranges 
A golden shower falls round 
On the bright-lighted ground : 
And the Naiads are singing : 
" Come where the hair-bells are ringing 
Along Fairy Isles ; 
And the Cupids are flinging 
Their love-witching smiles. 
Come to the wooded dell, 
'Neath the fount and the fell : 
Come where the sky is light, 
Hasten, ye Fairies, O hasten to-night." 

X. 

Angelica and Celestine 

Returning from mission divine, 

Brought rich robes, fair and fine, 

For Myra lost in the storm, 

But never thereafter 

Went wandering forlorn ; 

Who aided the chorus along, 

And sang while they joined in the song ; 



QUEEN SYLVIA, 35 

XI. 
"Mortal may never stray- 
By streamlet or lake, 
Where Ave laughing take 
Our cheerful way ; 
With look askance 
At the merry dance 
Of the green-wood Fairy Fay. 

xn. 
"Thus we merrily sing 
Where the cow-bells ring, 
Their kling-go-ling ; 
And the silvery spray, 
On a starlight ray, 
Falls slantwise from the fount of day." 

xm. 

Then Circe, Queen of Wonderland, 

Waves her magic wand, 

Saying : " The dreamers are advancing, 

With merry eyes aglancing ; 

Wonderous things to see. 

Which have ceased 

Thek wonderments to me : 

We'll hasten on till breaking dawn, 

And ope each door with a golden key ; 

And let each lamp of night 

Set in the heavenly canopy, 

Burning fair and bright 

A blazing diamond be." 

xrVo 
Tripping gaily O, 
Came the picnic children in a row, 



36 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

Led by Circe, queen 
Over the fair and fragrant green ; 
While attendants lingering near 
Bids them hail with hearty cheer. 

XV. 

"Hail, heavenly heralds, hail; 
'Tis a day of joy and gladness; 
Hope sheds her light around thee now, 
Where never cloud of sadness 
Shall settle on thy brow. 
Tho' darkness may be near. 
And light go back to the celestial sphere ; 
Hope shall reassert her power 
In the space of one short hour." 

XVI. 

Then Sylvia approaching, speaks. 
With the radiance of bloom upon her cheeks ; 
" Welcome, Eileen, meet welcome now, 
And all this happy band, 
To my silvery strand : 
Ye immortal dreamers 
Of my kingdom, bow ; 
For it is our pleasure 
To reward, without measure, 
Virtue wherever found 
In our lithsome frolics round : 
Hence we 've brought you here 
From the earthly sphere, 
To behold this kingdom so fine 
And these subjects of mine ; 
Come, King Leopert, 
Pledge me one cup of wine." 



qUEEN SYLVIA. 

xvn. 
" Sunshine of life 
Amid darkness and strife, 
Queen of the queenly heart, 
1 11 pledge thee and quaff 
With a merry, round laugh ; 
For at thy radiant sweet smile 
Shadows depart. 

xvm. 

" Not a gem shines more bright 
In the galaxy of light, 
Than the hope which you bring to my heart ; 
Out of thy ancestral line, 
I hail thee, fair one, as divine ; 
O bid me never depart." 

XIX. 

The Naiads, in chorus, sing. 
While the hills resounding ring: 
" Come quickly away, 
The smiling morn 
Chides our delay ; 
Silk tassels the corn ; 
We must obey ; 
Come, speed we away. 

XX. 

"Merrily free 
Cometh the green 
Sea-witch of the sea ; 
To behold our queen : 
Hark to the silk sounding sear, 
The angel of light walketh near. 



38 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

XXI. 

' ' Come quickly away, 
To our amber beds ; 
Pearly as May, 
Where the genii of ocean 
Covers our heads 
With the swirl of the spray. 

xxn. 

' ' Then away, away. 
Haste we away. 
To the silvery couch 
Of sweet, rosy sleep, 
Where cherubs keep 
The fates and furies away." 

xxrii. 

The grand company march 
Under the floral arch 
Of green-wood boughs ; 
Interchanging vows 
Of eternal friendship ; 
While from the asphodels 
Life's elixir they sip. 
Under nomadic sjdcUs. 

XXIV. 

Then Dewdrop, Queen of Fays, 
Attracted by the marching, 
Thitherward strays 
With Amber and Emerald, 
Who laughing sing, 
" Two fairies are we, 
And one fay. 
Did you think that we 



qUEEN SYLVIA. 39 

Could u't find you, O say? 

When the lily bells ring, 

We dance with delight. 

Wearing green spotted with white, 

And hail with greeting true, 

How do you do ? 

How do you do ? 

XXV. 

"Away in the forest we dwell; 
Where our path wends 
No mortal may tell ; 
The wood-pecker lends 
His rat-a-tap-tap 
To the dell. 
In a palace of gold, 
AVhere the wavelets are rolled 
Over a moss-grown cell. 
Hark ! ye one and all ! 
List to the Elfin call 
Of that merry born weight ; 
Dear Naiads and nymphs, 
Good night, good night." 

XXVI. 

Then Diamond,-'^ with dust brown shoes, 
Came to pay the Naiad queen his dues ; 
Gently saying, round and round her straying : 
"Hail, dear Sylvia, queen; 
I've come from Fairy Land so green 
To greet the idol of this band, 
The Naiad queen : 



*Dianiond, King of Elves.— C. 



40 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

Accept the flowers I bring 

As love's best offering ; 

While amid this festive scene 

We greet thee as our royal queen." 

XX vn. 
Sylvia's reply 

Was answered with cheers in the sky, 
From a troop of angels 
That went winging thereby, 
As she did repeat with music sweet : 
"Thy floral token of friendship I greet; 
Bright be the hours 

That brought thee to the Naiad's retreat : 
May never dark sadness 
Mar the mirth of thy gladness 
In this kingdom of ours." 

XXVIII. 

Then Leopert and the queen, 

In the closing drama 

Of the scene, 

Sang a duet. 

With chorus in quartet : 
* ' Let Nymphs of our festivity 

Lightly circle round ; 

And joy unbounded be 

In mirthfulness and sound ; 

Long may loved memory dwell 

Over this beautiful scene ; 

We bid you farewell." 

And an echo softly whispered : 
"WeU, farewell." 



qUEEN SYLVIA. 41 



XXIX. 

At the last murmuring swell, 

As the winds rose and fell, 

Luna, Goddess of Night, 

Winging her flight, 

Like an angel heavenly born, 

At that late hour 

When deepest darkness e'er morn 

Comes floating o'er the scene, 

Crown'd like a queen 

With a girdle of stars. 

And crystal bars 

On her breast, 

Said: "Rest, rest, 

Haste away to thy rest." 

XXX. 

And the dark folds of night 

Hid the portals of Sylvia's kingdom 

Away from my sight : 

While the silence round 

Seemed the sleep of eternity. 

Deep and profound ; 

In that trance and expanse 

Where the tides of duration 

Neither recede nor advance 

In the roll and the goal of creation, 

XXXI. 

While the chill of the night. 
And the blight of the dews. 
Caused my Pegasus to take flight, 
As well as my muse, 
Up the empyreal height : 
(4) 



42 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

Shod in silver slippers 

And golden-tipped shoes, 

Up among the dippers ; 

Winging from sight, 

Out of the night, 

Away from the damps and the dews. 



TEE EXILE. 43 



THE EXILE. 

Away on the water's rim 

Moving cloudlets 

Kound me swim, 

While sea gulls perch and scream 

On the rocking masts 

Above the water's gleam. 

Distant lights along the shore 

Glimmer and gleam 

Forever more 

Out of the deep, ethereal blue 

With a bright 

And glorious hue. 

As I stand and gaze 

Up through the Milky Wa/s 

Soft fleecy haze, 

In deep abstraction, there 

I see the tender eyes 

Of an angel good and fair. 

One who left me when 

My boyhood's sun 

Rose brightly o'er the glen ; 

In the morning fair of life 

Ere I set sail 

On the sea of strife. 

She left me in the twilight's gold, 
When angel hands 



44 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

Night's shadowy curtains fold 
Around our mother-earth, 
As bright harbingers 
Heralded in the second birth. 

And I know that now 

With eye intent, 

She watcheth my vessel's prow 

As it sjDeedeth through the foam, 

Bearing all I have 

From friends and home. 



THE MAIDED OF THE GLEN. 45 



THE MAIDEN OF THE GLEN. 

She was rare, she was fair, 

She was fond. 

As the angels of the air, 

Or the lilies of a pond : 

And I ofttimes used to sit, 

When the swallows homeward flit, 

And discourse to them 

Of this maiden of the glen. 

Her cruel father banished me 
_ From the garden gate 
And linden tree ; 
But oft I lingered late 
This maiden fair to see ; 
Listening for the faintest sound 
Of her foot upon the ground, 
To move to life the world around. 

This maiden of the glen 
Was gentle, kind, and true, 
And loved the sons of men 
As only few can do. 

She oft would meet 

Me in the sunshine sweet, 

Or in the night's retreat, 

To recount and tell 

The charm of Cupid's spell ; 

Which round about her fell 

In that secluded dell. 



46 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

And in her dreamy eyes, 
Like tiie ether blue, 
Shone the light of paradise 
With soft celestial hue. 
And never fairy stepped 
Where rill or rivulet swept 
Across the shinning sands. 
With lighter foot or fairer hands. 

Her echoing tread 

Woke softest music round. 

Like the silvery sound 

Of heavenly bells profound. 

Borne on the ambrosial breeze 

From over eternity's seas. 

This maiden rare, 

This child of earth and air. 

Cast sunshine every-where. • 

Along the laughing brooks. 

And in the shaded nooks, 

As amid the sparlding sjDray, 

She'd skip and play. 

With a halo of silver 

Round her every day. 

The tuneful bu^ds 
And lowing herds 
Joyed to see her pass 
So light upon the grass ; 
And the mooping owl, 
Brooding where destiny's pets 
Nightly love to prowl. 
Cast a twinkling shine. 
From his gray old eyes, 
On this being all divine, 
Related to the skies. 



THE MAIDEN OF THE GLEN. 47 

She was like the rose, 
Or bed of amber bright, 
O'er which the zejahyr blows 
From the fields of liquid light. 

JSTo flower of fairest stem. 
Grown on mountain side 
Or by the water's hem, 
Shown more radiant then 
This winsome little bride 
Of that secluded glen. 

She was rare, she was fair, 

She was fond. 

As the angels of the air, 

Or the lilies of a pond : 

And I ofttimes used to sit. 

When the swallows homeward flit, 

And discourse to them 

Of this maiden of the glen. 



48 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 



8IK BEVERLY'S BRIDE. 



NOTE. 



The following lines are based upon an incident which came under 
the personal observation of tlie author. 'I'he lovers lived to quarrel 
and be very unhappy after their nuptials. U seems strange that such 
devotion should thus end.— C. 



Geim and gray the morning lay, 
As I wended o'er a lonely way ; 
While loitering there, I met a lady fair. 
With gold and auburn hair. 

With low-cut shoe she brushed the early dew, 
Wending the meads and meadows through ; 
Half unaware, I said, ' ' My gentle fair. 
What may be the cause of this thy care ? " 

She replied, "Kind sir, I am a worshiper 

Of a gay and graceful lover ; 

He lives in yonder town ; this is my wedding gown, 

Oh ! I've left behind a father's frown." 

Said I, " Through the river's flow no foot may go. 
And there 's no boatman here to row ; 
'T is plain, you see, heaven's decree 
Lies between your lover and thee." 

"Then lend me thy steed, in this my need, 
For I must away with speed ; 
Ere the morning sun its journey hath begun 
They'll rally at the sounding drum. 



SIR BEVERLY'S BRIDE. 49 

" Once I 've cross'd the ford, his angry horde 
Must go miles to the bridge restored ; 
And long ere then o'er mount and glen, 
We '11 foil my father's heartless men." 

My steed so true, I led the lady to. 
They instant sank in the waters blue. 
Her startled cry rang in the sky, 
For the river ran wild and high. 

But through good cheer, and angels near. 
They reached the landing clear ; 
With scarf of blue she waved adieu, 
And went cantering from my view. 

Over in the town, on a mead of brown, 
My steed fed free in clover down 
While at the saddle-bow floating to and fro, 
Something golden seemed to glow. 

In a silken veil, on paper pale, 
My eyes these words did haU, 
" My thanks anew, kind su-, to you, 
Who brought me to my lover true. 

' ' Oh ! now I ride Su- Beverly's bride 
On the mountains wild and wide : 
And ere this day hath sped away, 
I '11 be queen of a castle gay, 

" Where a father's decree shall never be 
Held between my lover and me ; 
For well a-day we will away 
To bowers of bliss where love's breezes play. 
(5) 



50 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

"Farewell, kind friend, wherever you wend 
May heaven's blessing attend ; 
When life is done, at the rising sun, 
Meet me where golden ages run." 

From the flowery mead I led my steed. 
And the message o'er and o'er did read ; 
While angels rare, from the fields of air, 
Seemed walking by me there. 

What a vision of bliss in a wilderness, 
To meet such loveliness ; 
And how we long to hear some song, 
Still wafted back when they are gone. 

To catch a gleam of the radiant sheen 
From over oblivion's stream ; 
Where much the same we may meet again 
And whisper love's endearing name. 

Whether on land or sea, this Bride of Beverly 
In dreams bewitcheth me ; 
And on my soul I long to stroll 
Beside her in eternity's goal. 



THE PRIEST AND THE PEASANT. 51 



THE PRIEST AND THE PEASANT. 

Once upon a time, 

In the golden Orient's delightful clime, 

As the sun in the evening twilight set, 

A priest and peasant met, 

On the borders of a limpid stream. 

Made beautiful by the parting gleam 

Reflected from the orb of day 

Over the glowing hilltops, 

Which in the distance lay 

Illumined like the paths of Paradise 

Leading from earth away. 

The man of God, 
In silken sandals shod, 
And countenance divine, 
Thus spoke in measured line : 
" Whither away. 
Frail mortal of a day ? 
Dost thou journey near 
The land of light and cheer? 
Hast thou tasted bliss ? 
Art thou robed in righteousness ? 
Come, wilt thou journey free 
To the heavenly land with me ? " 

" With thee ! " the peasant said, 

Halting on the grassy glade ; 
"What human span 

May bridge the river that ran 



52 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

Crimson with Christian gore 
In those darkened days of yore, 
For a passport through 
The land you journey to?" 

Then replied the priest : 
"Good, brother, at least 
You should understand, 
True faith is in demand : 
If thou would'st gain the sky, 
Ask not the reason why ; 
Nor seek to fathom God's decree, 
If you would the land of promise see." 

Then the peasant spoke again. 
In a milder strain : 
' ' Did not a Christian sect. 
Proud of their intellect. 
Defame the Saviour's name, 
And crucify with cruel shame 
This friend of man who came 
His heavenly birthright to reclaim ? 
Say thou, sage divine, 
What years of penitence supine 
May wash away that awful crime ? " 

The priest, with reverend look, 
A reproving finger shook, 
Saying: " Vain mortal of a day, 
Seek not thou to stray, 
Where God eternal stands, 
Sovereign, supreme, of all the lands." 

The peasant, in reply. 
Looking upward at the sky. 



THE PRIEST AND THE PEASANT. 53 

Says: " Prithee, wliy 
Dou't some angel good 
Visit earth's multitude, 
Bearing from yon world of light, 
The open scroll of eternity bright, 
That man may pierce the gloom 
Beyond the portals of the tomb. 
And catch some feeble view 
Of the sphere he journeys to ? " 

The priest, with solemn voice. 
Said : " Mortals make their choice. 
Pursuing paths that go 
To where the tide of Time's eternal flow 
Empties into the gulf of duration. 
Beyond the out-posts of creation, 
Where lies life's deathless goal 
Prepared for the immortal soul." 

While thus they spoke 

A gleam of glory broke 

Through the illumined sky, 

And a viewless form went sweeping by. 

With the keys of Charon's mart 

Hung at a girdle round her heart, 

And a darksome river ran 

Which no bridge may span : 

And a boat, all painted white. 

Shooting through a gleam of light, 

Went sailing away, 

With the priest and peasant. 

Through mountains of foam-crested spray, 

To a shore where beginneth and endeth never, 

The nightless day. 



54 - CAMPBELLS POEMS. 



ETERNITY'S STRAND. 

There 's a strand that we tread 
Between the living and dead, 
Where sunken reefs lie 
Strewn hither and thither 
By the winds of the sky ; 
Where wrecks lie at random, 
Cast round by the fates ; 
And the soul doth abandon 
Its illusions and mates 
Beyond the dark, rolling sea 
Where begins eternity. 

That strand hath been trod 

By apostles and prophets unshod, 

By beggars that seem 

Tattered, dejected, and lean, 

Blown hither and thither 

Like a waif on the stream : 

By peasants well fed. 

By lords and ladies bred, 

Out of the royal line, 

Akin to seraphs celestial, divine. 

Along the cold shore 
Commotion and tumult doth roar, 
As the tempests and waves 
Lash their white foam upon graves 
Lonely as ocean caves : 
Deserted and drear, 
Where no pardon is said, 



ETERNITY'S STRAND. 55 

And the gleams of eternity play 
Round the cold head, 
Held there by a spell, 
Waiting the swell * 

Of Gabriel's trumpet, 
Bidding to heaven or hell. 
Those missing legions 
Too many for mortal to tell. 

Along the cold strand. 

Glimmers and gleams on every hand, 

From over the stream, 

In the bright water's gleam. 

Eternity's lights, 

Froni tall mountain heights ; 

Like a silvery sheen. 

From minarets fair 

And roofs glowing golden every-where. 

Between the dim strand 
Where wandering angels meet, 
And the mystic wand 
Moves over life's retreat 
And the river's scowl, 
Fiends incarnate prowl 
In the silence all profound. 
Mute and motionless around 

Near that dreaded strand 
Fleshless phantoms stand, 
Waiting for a passage hence, 
From whence to thence, 
In dread suspense ; 
While the flapping sail 
And angry gale 



56 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

Chime with Charon's oar, 
In making the voyage 
From shore to shore. 

Reader, one day we 

That strand shall see. 

Hid in the realm of mystery, 

Away in the yonder day ; 

Beyond the river's spray, 

Where immortal souls 

Take shipping 

For the eternal land. 



CABOLDINE. 57 



CAROLDINE. 

I KNOW a little cot 
By a shady mountain spot, 
Which holds a winsome lass, 
That always greets me as I pass. 

In that secluded glen 
Never wanders foot of men : 
There, by some legend, it is said, 
Lingers Time's receding tread. 

And angels, radiant, rare, 
Dally in the summer air ; 
While the hush of nature round 
Moves the soul with the profound. 

I oft beside her sit 
When the evening shadows flit, 
In a sort of dream like reverie, 
For she's -all the wOrld to me. 

Her eyes are hazel brown, 

And her cheeks like softest down, 

And her auburn hair 

Falls like a glory round her there. 

From her ruby lips 

And taper finger tips, 

I've often sipped the nectar balm, 

Which a troubled life doth calm. 



58 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

And when bidding adieu at eleven, 
A light like the tender hue of heaven 
'Bound my path would break 
Like silvery moon-beams on the lake. 

By some mystery divine 

This maiden's soul with mine 

Is linked in love's embrace 

As I wend the world from place to place. 

And never sun doth rise 
But I think of those bright eyes ; 
And never star doth shine 
But I dream of Caroldine, 

Once when over the sea 
She sent a missive of love to me, 
Inlaid in a clasp of gold, 
And leaflets of silver rolled. 

She spoke of her cozy home, 
And of the ocean's foam, 
And of returning spring, 
When mated robins sing. 

O, I'll hie me hence in haste, 

Lest she droop in the wooded waste ; 

I'll quit the dangerous tide 

And make her my own true bride. 

And through life's morning ray, 
And the noontide's sultry day, 
And the evening's deep decline, 
I'll worship my Caroldine. 



LINES TO MY MOTHER. 59 



LINES TO MY MOTHER. 

Once upon a time, 

When the celestial bells were ringing 

Out their heavenly chime, 

And the holy angels singing 

Some lov'd melody divine, 

The gates of gold, unbarr'd around, 

Swung noiseless back without a sound : 

A stray babe, with eyes of blue, 

Came wandering earthward into view. 

From out the fields of Paradise. 

When first she came. 
Some rays of that blest sphere 
Linger'd 'round her here : 
Which more earthly grew 
As she walk'd its ways 
And windings through. 

She met a lover bold, 

The heir of lands and gold ; 

And in the early spring, 

Wlien the mavis and the martins sing, 

They held their nuptial day. 

With many to wish them happiness 

Along the matrimonial way. 

The days and years went : 

Their home was filled with plenty 

And prosper'd with content 



60 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

Till stealthily there came 
That dark intruder bold, 
Whom men call Death by name, 
And scatter'd the loving fold. 

The morn my mother died 
I was fritting by her side, 
Silently watching the flow 
Of life's deep unrest, 
Which heav'd her bosom so : 
When suddenly a light divine 
Broke 'round her features. 
Lighting up their dying shine. 
Then she murmured softly, 
"I see the Saviour coming 
To guide me o'er the tide — 
My son be faithful, 
And meet me on the other side." 

The last word was but a whisper. 
I could catch no further sound, 
Nor breath nor motion's stir, 
In the silence so profound. 

Since then I 've often seen 
Her chang'd and radiant image 
Thro' the mirage of a dream : 
And there seems to be 
A golden glory grand 
Shinning 'round her immortality 
From the fair appointed land. 
And her angel face I see. 
Like an illumin'd star, 
Turn'd earthward unto me 
From the depths of Eden far. 



LINES TO MY MOTHER. 61 

'Tis a joy to know 
That sometime I may meet 
The mother who lov'd me so 
Safe on the golden street, 
Amid those wonders bright 
Which noAV are hid from sight, 
By a dark curtain hung 
Between this earthly sphere 
And the land of always sun. 



Q2 CAMPBELL'S FOE MS. 



BEYOND THE CRYSTAL SEA. 

Beyond the crystal sea 
There stands, waiting for me, 
One with crown of gold, 
Sheltered in the shepherd's fold. 

Chorus. — She'U take me by the hand 
On the golden strand. 
And lead me through 
Emmanuel's land. 

Those glowing towers on high, 
Casting radiance through the sky. 
Over yon city of sacredness, 
For worlds I would not miss. — Chorus. 

Those lovely groves of silver'd trees. 
Swaying in heaven's ambrosial breeze, 
Must blissful, shady, be 
In yon vale of purity. — Chorus. 

And the holy angels, too. 

With heavenly natures new. 

Glow, radiant and sublime. 

In yonder beauteous clime. — Chorus. 

'Neath rays of softest light 

And golden halos bright. 

Amid airs of azure shine, 

We'U roam that land divine. — Chorus. 



BEYOND THE CRYSTAL SEA. 63 

Through ages of celestial hue 

And a grandly beautiful view, 

By silvered rills of bliss, 

We'll sing songs of sacredness. — Choeus. 

Forever and eternally, 

As the ages all supernally 

Float their lengthened span along 

In the land of heavenly song. — Chorus. 



64 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 



ODE TO THE GODDESS OF LIBERTY. 

Thou beauteous angel form, 
Standing on the national dome 
Through sunshine and storm : 
Princess, ideal, America's own. 

Long hast thou stood there 
Through sunshine and shade — 
A beautiful emblem in air, 
Thou divinely gifted maid. 

In liberty's cradle rocked. 
In freemen's hearts enshrined, 
When British tyrants shocked 
The minds of all mankind. 

Angel, lovely, thou hast seen 
The growth of liberty's land. 
By a bright and heavenly gleam 
Wafted from the future strand. 

Thou hast looked on carnage red. 
On war's dreadful flow, 
And on the ghastly dead, 
As to eternity we go. 

Angel, heavenly, thou didst behold, 

With ladened grief and sorrow. 

Those rebel leaders bold. 

When ffloom's cloud broke on the morrow. 



ODE TO THE GODDESS OF LIBERTY. 65 

Thou hast in triumph seen 
The Star Spangled Banner, 
Victorious over all gleam 
In love's harmonious manner. 

And gifted statesmen, too, 
Making liberty's laws, 
Hath sat beneath thy view, 
Proud in the nation's applause. 

Thou hast seen passion's waves 
Sweeping at a fearful rate 
Over the foam-crested raves 
Of the grand old Ship of State. 

Thou hast seen, with dread. 
In terrible frowning form. 
Breakers dark ahead 
Through the gathering storm. 

And the reflected gleam 

Of the course we make. 

On Liberty's rippling stream, 

Hath shown thee many a mistake. 

Look over destiny's sea 
And tell us if hidden shoals 
Shall swamp the Ship of Liberty, 
As the ages onward rolls ? 

! must she go down 
Amid the gathering gloom, 
And all on board drown 
In a watery tomb ? 



66 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

Or will she safely sail 
Triumphant and grandly on, 
With a favoring gale, 
Into the beams of eternity's morn? 

Guard well our destiny. 
Thou immortal image fair ! 
While sailing the hidden sea 
To a harbor we know not where. 

At the helm of the Ship of State, 
With minds of manly mold, 
Place the tried, the true, the great, 
To protect this mortal fold. 

Let them scan the breakers o'er 
And boiling billows stranger. 
Which sound along the shore 
Like mutterings of distant danger. 

Cruard well this land divine. 
Liberty's loved and loyal home, 
I or wanderers from every clime, 
No matter whence they roam. 

! thou ideal image fair. 
With Liberty's emblem 'round thee, 
Thou silent sentinel of the an-, 
Art adored on land and sea. 

And as we go sailing near 
The verge of the heavenly strand, 
To the harbor eternal, clear, 
Where stand a waiting band. 



ODE TO THE GODDESS OF LIBERTY. 67 

Methinks the golden gleam 
Of eternity's rising sun, 
Will round thee brightly beam 
When thy latest watch is done. 



68 CAMPBELLS POEMS 



TWENTY YEARS. 

Twenty years fled, 

Twenty years sped, 

I stray'd amid the scenes 

Of my boyhood's early dreams. 

Where all the brooks and streams 

Glow'd with golden gleams ; 

In the May-day's prime. 

When the charms of life 

Fill'd this soul of mine. 

Twenty years flown 

Like a beggar's groan, 

I walk'd and talk'd in an undertone, 

With voice that scarcely seem'd my own 

For whispers there. 

From phantoms flow 

Out of the haunts of men. 

Came taunting with their jeer — 

Fondest friendships sever'd here. 

Twenty years gone : 

I saw children playing on 

My favorite lawn. 

Who knew not me. 

Once the soul of revelry. 

When the elves and fairies tripp'd 

So deft and merrily, 

'Neath the moonlit ray, 

Softly falling from the gates of day. 



TWENTY YEARS. QQ 

Twently years buried, 

Twenty years carried 

Into the gloom, 

Beyond the silence of the tomb. 

With only a lingering sound 

Of their dead echo wafted round. 

Which seems but feeble cheer 

To the starving soul 

Pining for friendships here. 

Twenty years of bitter tears, 

Of joy and fears ; 

What a pyramid uprears 

To the wizard Time, 

Tolling duration's chime, 

In measured rhyme, 

With furrow'd face. 

And bended form. 

Muttering moodily out each mime. 

Twenty years o'er. 

Twenty years more. 

Ere Time rings another score ; 

The soul shall wing away 

From many bodies made of clay, 

Enduring but a night and day. 

To a realm, to a strand. 

Mysterious and grand, 

Which mortal doth not understand 

Twenty years flown — 
What hath their varied tone 
Brought to us, 
Children changing thus? 



70 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

In manhood's morn, 

Like the sear leaf of the corn, 

When the frosts of time 

Chills the germ divine, 

In the mirthful May-day's prime ? 



THE FABTINQ KISS. 71 



THE PARTESTG KISS. 

Still I see you standing there, 
With the moonlight on your face, 
And the starlight in your hair ; 
Like an angel full of grace, 
With features radiant, rare. 

And the thrill of love 
At the parting kiss 
Like an Eden dove 
In a world of wretchedness, 
Conies from God above, 

Bringing the past to me, 

So tender, sweet. 

That again I long to see. 

And those lips to greet, 

For the bliss they bring to me. 



72 - CAMPBELLS POEMS. 



COURTIINTG. 

Some parts of courting must be done in prose, 
Especially when the north wind blows ; 
But when the flowers bloom on the lea, 
Courting is sometimes aided by poetry. 

For then we love to sport and run 
With fair maidens in the sun ; 
Chasing the golden butterfly 
In eddying circles through the sky, 

Till all our songs and dreams, 
Like wavelets, float a-down the streams, 
As the evening's solemn chill 
Brings back the boding of some ill. 

Which the grim old raven there 

Chants like an anthem of despair : 

When the Summer's bloom is gone, 

And we stand between the darkness and the dawn. 



ST. PETER'S TASK. 73 



ST. PETER'S TASK. 

O ! WHAT is sweeter 

To a Saint like Peter, 

Than heavenly repose ; 

When o'er wearied 

With mortal woes, 

Knocking at the gate, 

Knocking early. 

Knocking late, 

'Round about the portals there, 

Seeking entrance 

To a realm so very fair. 

St. Peter nods and sleeps. 

While thro' the golden portal sweeps 

A soul unbidden there. 

But 'round his holy head 

He quick descries 

A sinful tread, 

Walking thro' the skies. 

Disturbing his sweet dream 

Of the shining fair. 

Or some maiden rare. 

In the land of Nod, I ween. 

Quick upstarting then. 
He sweeps his hurried ken 
Thro' the isles of holy bliss 
And groups of saintliness. 
(7) 



74 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

But dai'kucss 'round him fell, 

As tju'o' the celestial light 

Of Paradise, once bright. 

There ran an imp of' hell 

Before his 'wildorod sight ; 

While down St. Peter s beard of snow 

Went trickling tears of woe. 

But hark ! a shout, a cry. 
There 's conflict iu the sky ; 
Tlie corridors of glory 'round 
Reverberate with sound : 
And celestial warriors, too. 
Arrayed iu bright panoply. 
Are wounded through, 
With the wicked glance 
And look askance — 
This wight of hell 
Cast on heaven's citadel. 

Oue hour past, 

And the clarion blast 

Of Gabriel's trump proclaims 

Peace on the heavenly plains. 

For this foreign foe 

Had been hurled to regions dark below ; 

And St. Peter, with double guard. 

Hath the gates of glory barred ; 

And all is tranquil, still, 

After the tumult 

Ou heaven's holy hill. 

St. Peter may nod again ; 
But one thing is plain : 
No imp of the perverse, 



^7'. PETERS TASK. 75 

With golden guineas in a purse, 

May hold the heavenly domain : 

Should he chance. 

With wicked look askance, 

To pass St. Peter in a trance. 

And scale the celestial gate 

With unholy effort great, 

He 'd surely meet the outcast angel's fate. 



76 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



A MAIDEN OF DELPHI. 

A MAIDEN of Delphi, 
With softest cheek and lustrous eye, 
At the tomb of her Rolbert, 
Was heard to mourn and cry, 
Amid the rocks on Crissa's shore, 
"Lost, lost to me! forever more." 

The vesper died with the day, 
The parting sun shot its level ray 
Over all that scenery wild. 
As the maiden knelt down to pray. 
Amid the rocks on Crissa's shore, 
" ! give my Rolbert back once more ! 

"Is thine a doom divine. 
To kill this soul of mine ? 
And turn to darkness 
All this Delphic shine. 
Along the rocks on Crissa's shore, 
With thee gone forever more ? 

* ' Or wilt thou rise 
With diviner eyes. 
From the vale of dark suspense. 
Immortal, shining in the skies, 
From the rocks on Crissa's shore. 
To sing with the angels forever more ? " 



A MAIDEN OF DELPHI. 77 

Her words were uttered slow. 
Her face, celestial and aglow, 
Held a melanclioly gleam, 
As if her Rolbert's soul 
Was entombed on Crissa's shore, 
Amid the rocks forever more. 



78 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 



INGEESOLLIA. 

Who will be the mate 

Of this philosopher of fate, 

Lately grown so great, 

To mortal view : 

When fetterless and free, 

His soul puts off to sea. 

On the tide of wild wide mystery, 

In Charon's white canoe ? 

Who shall be his guide 
Through illimitable existence wide ; 
Where worlds are multiplied 
By the unfolding of nature's law ; 
When traversing the mystic line, 
Along the shores of eternal time, 
To the death-knell's chime 
Which fills the soul with awe ? 

Who will take him by the hand 

At the landing of Death's cold strand. 

All creedless there to stand : 

Filled with wonderment to see 

The realm of glory fair. 

With Christians gathered there. 

Worshiping every-where 

'Round the throne of Deity ? 

When the night sets in, 
And the light grows dim. 
And his senses swim. 



INGERSOLLIA. 79 

And a whisper in his ear 
Bids him, " Quickly come, 
And be dumb," 
As his limbs grow numb 
With the ghosts of fear — 

! who will then 

Lead this infidel god of men 

From the world's hem, 

Over the Stygian Avave, 

When the lightning's gleam, 

And the eternal sheen, 

Flashes between 

The clods of his grave ? 

For no hope hath he, 

No Christ or Deity 

To guide him over the darksome sea, 

Safely away 

From the wreck of time, 

To the portals sublime 

Of that heavenly clime, 

Where breaks eternal day. 

Forsake thy sleep 
In the cold earth deep, 
. Where worms their vigil keep 
To all eternity : 
Senseless, soulless, dead, 
As a lump of lead, 
With atoms sped 
Back to nonentity. 

Avoid such doom, 
While there is room 



80 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

To burst the fetters of the tomb, 
With light diviue 
From the Savior's face, 
Beaming bright with grace 
For souls more base 
Than thine, 

That the seraphs crowned 

May hear the sound. 

Through the courts of glory 'round, 

Of thy repentant cry ; 

And haste to greet. 

On the golden street, 

AVith music sweet. 

An erring spirit to the sky. 



TEE CUTTLE CREW. 81 



THE CUTTLE CREW. 

I. 
Algereo was the leader brave 
Of a j)irate band 
On the boundless wave ; 
Captain of " The Cuttle Crew," 
A lot of desperate dare-devils, 
When there was bloody work to do. 

n. 

He had sailed the main 
These eighteen years ; 
And many spoke his name, 
Filled with fears — 
For he paid no homage 
To priest or maid. 

m. 

He was tall of form, 

Of bearing brave, 

King of the storm, 

When death and devastation lay 

Scattered round, 

On board "The prize and pay ; " 

rv. 

Which fortune or the devil's wand 
Had thrown or blown 
Within his hand. 



82 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

For no victim's prayer, 
Uttered in the frenzy of soul, 
Moved Algereo there — 

V. 

Amid the work of hell, 

Which this fiend 

Performed so well. 

On every strand 

His stolen millions were buried 

By trusty hand. 

VI. 

Not even the eagle's wing 

On his pathway 

Cast a shadowing : 

At the dead hour of night 

His treasure was hid, 

By the " Jack-o-devil's light." 

VII. 

Then away they would speed 
To their "Cuttle" again, 
With the stride of a steed. 
Whose mettle untried. 
Goes bounding away 
Over the wild mountain side. 

vni. 

The hand of the law, 
With its mandate supreme, 
Its trappings and awe, 
Never reached those bad men 
Careering to the gales. 
On the far water's hem. 



THE CUTTLE CREW. 83 

IX. 
Wreck and ruiu lay 
Where e'er they chanced 
To bend then- way ; 
Led by Algereo, 
They would strike 
Both friend and foe. 



Their 's was terrible work, 
And terribly done 
In the daylight and murk : 
Sending immortal souls 
Into the endless duration, 
As onward it rolls. 

XI. 

For what? 

For gold, 

And nothing but that : 

Glittering dross, 

Which dwindles away 

As the river we cross. 

xn. 

Pirates may sail 

Over the liquid lake, 

With the whirl of the gale, 

Whose burning is fed, 

In the realm afar, 

By the damn'd of the dead. 

xin. 
Where the darkness of doom 
Settles dim 



84 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

Through the smoke and the gloom ; 

But they '11 find no prize 

On which to gloat 

With their dark, hellish eyes. 



A leader will there 

Take charge 

Of his mart and his lair ; 

And wreak vengeance on them, 

Who went pirating onward 

Beyond this world's hem. 



TWENTY LADIES ON A LARK 85 



TWENTY LADIES ON A LAKK. 



NOTE. 
[The author was the victim of the following described lark; but 
he consoles himself with the thought that one woman got ahead of 
Adam, and why shouldn't twenty get ahead of him? However, it 
was a very pleasant episode, not to be forgotten soon. The ladies are 
earth's angels, who light with life the eye, and thrill with hope the 
heart.— C] 



A WIDOW dressed in weeds, 

With a heart that breaks and bleeds, 

Because of domestic wrong, 

Went to the lawyer with her song, 

Enrobed in a veil so fine. 

With a voice that captivated mine. 

Her mother kindly came, 

Mature of age, a stately dame. 

To aid the daughter to untie 

The knot which married folks are guided by ; 

But her face was painful then, 

And she too hid it from men. 

Chairs were given them. 

While I listened to the faithlessness of men ; 

Kecounted by the widow fair. 

Judging from her accents there, 

Although her face I could n't see. 

Which was a source of worryment to me. 



CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

Russell was her mother's name ; 

Her father should have borne the same ; 

But he loved the mountain dells, 

And was known from far and near as Wells ; 

Sh'd had an only son, 

But the Lord called home Johnny Morrison. 

At this stage of the play. 

In came tripping eighteen damsels gay, 

With a laugh and a bound. 

Whose echoes still linger round ; 

Their bright bewitching eyes. 

Told me 1 was duped by these mysterious wives, 

Whose veils were thrown aside, 

Whereat I laughed until I cried, 

To see the rosy lips 

And pretty finger tips. 

Of Mrs. Morrison and her ma. 

Who never loved a man but pa. 

The oysters served in style, 

I was the butt of many a jest and smile ; 

Marching in the serenade 

With the winsome little maid. 

Throughout the startl'd town. 

Till all the clocks run down. 

Twenty ladies in a line 

Played the mischief with this heart of mine ; 

For ofttimes since then 

I 've lived that night again ; 

Dreaming of the widow'd queen 

And her mother scarce past sixteen. 



TWENTr LADIES ON A LARK. 87 

So that here and now 

In public I Will vow, 

If there's pleasure on this sphere, 

The ladies bring it here ; 

E'en though our Mother Eve 

Did the first man deceive. 

Twenty ladies on a lark 

Went searching for a spark, 

In the mild and opening Spring ; 

When the buds and blossoms bring 

Cupid's little fairies round, 

Tripping full of mirth and sound. 

Now gentle ladies dear, 

I hold this tribute here ; 

He who never knew a woman's love 

Is illy fitted for the world above ; 

For throughout an endless spring, 

'T will be a heavenly offering. 



CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



THE FRIGATE-BIRD. 

From mariners, I have heard 

Of a strange and mystic bird, 

Which, tu-eless, flies 

Thro' all the skies, 

And never stoops to earth 

At its death or at its birth. 

Within the range of human eyes. 

Its wmgs are large and long ; 

And it swoops and sweeps along 

In one unerring line, 

As if an instinct sublime 

Held it on its way 

Thro' darkness and thro' day, 

For a purpose we can 't divine. 

It has been seen 

Above the lightning's gleam, 

Above the northern sea 

Where the Auroras be, 

Tireless, tameless, far. 

Moving like a guiding star, 

With a restless sweep, in the deep, of infinity. 

Where the southern ocean spreads 
O'er coral groves and amber beds : 
Beyond the tropics, too, 
Lost in the ether blue ; 



THE FRIGATE-BIRD. 89 

It has been seen to sail, 
Outriding tempest, outriding gale, 
Lost to tlie telescopic view. 

Never lighting on the sea, 
Never lighting on the land, 
What canst thou be, 
The pangs of hunger to withstand ; 
For what purpose to fulfill 
Did the great eternal Deity 
Give thee thy will ? 

Where does thy weary wing 
Rest in Winter or in Spring ? 
What perch of peaceful sweep 
May rest thy weary feet, 
In the ether fields remote, 
Where like a speck 
Thou seem'st to float ? 

Thine is a mission grand, 

Which the Ruler of the universe 

Doth understand. 

And to immortal minds. 

Those angles and those lines 

Which thou cleaveth thro' the sky. 

May be the stepping stones which souls gain heaven by. 

When freed from cumbrous clay, 

When ushered out of darkness into day. 

Winging above the spheres 

Into the eternal years. 

Thou may'st guide 

The soul on its sweep so wide. 

Over the timeless tide. 

(8) 



90 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

Shoreless, strandless, soundless, still; 
Up, up, and up the steep ascent, 
Uj) to the heavenly hill ; 
Where winged wanderers wait 
To ope the golden gate, 
For the soul's admission in, 
As a priceless offering. 

What e'er thou art, 

Whether earthly or ethereal. 

Of the realm above this mortal mart, 

There is a purpose, plan, and power, 

Which sustains thee every hour, 

In those cloud-capped azure fields 

To which all mortality yields. 

Fly on, thou mystic bird, 
Out of darkness, into dawn, 
The dawn of which we've heard. 
Celestial, heavenly, and aglow ; 
Above the rain-drops and the snow : 
Where what thy mission is 
We shall one day know. 



A PERI OF THE PEARLY STRAND. 91 



A PERI OF THE PEARLY STRAND. 



Once when the heavenly council met, 

And in the courts of glory sat, 

A peri of the pearly strand 

Went earthward wandering 

At God's command : 

To see if wickedness and sin, 

Should deluge all the world within ; 

Unstayed, unchecked, 

By one bright ray 

Of heavenly intellect 

Thrown from the gates of day, 

On earthly mortals here ; 

Suspended in the atmosphere 

By a slender thread 

From the mystic web, 

Woven in the loom of fate 

Between the living and the dead : 

Bearing immortal souls 

To regions untrod, 

Where timeless eternity rolls 

' Round the throne of our God. 

n. 

As the peri earthward flew, 
Scenery grand and new 
From the dying land 
Fell on her view. 
For on the ocean strand, 



92 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

'Mid the lull of the wind, 

She beheld one whose red right hand 

The human blood had spilled, 

And the prototype of God had killed, 

Dressed in priestly guise 

Saintlike, with a devil's eyes 

Muttering incantations in disiguse. 

m. 

'Twas a maid betrayed, 
And he laid her in the shade ; 
Deep within a hidden cave 
And an ' ' Ave Maria " gave 
After the murderous blow, 
Had sent her soul 
To perdition and to woe. 

IV. 

As the peri flew 

Full into view. 

He crossed himself in fear. 

Muttering ' ' God, be near ; 

I did the deed to save 

Her from a sinful grave : 

For she was too young 

To be undone 

By some soulless son of man ; 

Without a creed. 

Or holy bead. 

On which to tell 

The pangs of misery 

That the Lord befell, 

That lonely night, 

Shut from heaven's sight 

In dark Gethsemane, 



A PERI OF THE PEARLY STRAAD. 9$ 

WitliOLit one watcher 
To bear him company. " 

V. 

The peri made reply 

With counsel high ; 

"Thou miscreant, prepare 

To meet thy God, 

For hiding the body there. 

Such mocking wiles 

And priestly smiles, 

Will never stand 

The glance of God 

In the other land. 

Her blood is on thy soul ; 

And from the ground 

Her murdered moan doth roll, 

Troubling e ' en now 

The majestic grandeur 

Of the God of heaven's brow. 

VI. 

"Years, eternal years, 
In the mystic spheres 
Must pass away, 
Ere thou may'st regain 
What thou hast lost to-day : 
In taking the maiden's life ; 
In wronging another's wife, 
Under the guise 
Of thy priestly robe. 
And counsel wise. 
Mortal, there is little room 
To add another crime. 



94 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

To the epitaph thou 'rt writing 
For thy tomb. " 

vn. 

No more she said, 
But the priest, afraid, 
An ' ' Ave Maria " made : 
And back to his parish dear, 
In haste he went ; 
To right those wrongs 
With prayer and supplement, 
Thro' the coming year 

vin. 
The peri, in raising her wing, 
A hasty glance 
At the priest did fling : 
Uttering a sorrowful sigh. 
As she went winging 
Thro' the sky, 
Over a battle-field wild. 
Where war's terrible reign 
Had strewn and jiiled 
The ground with slain, 
With the dying and the dead. 
Who for their country bled. 

IX. 

The peri beheld a leader there. 

Searching with anxious care : 

In hopes to find 

The stay and staflT 

Of a widow'd mother's mind. 



A PERI OF THE PEARLY STRAND 95 



He sought as if his soul 
Heard its death-kuell toll ; 
For leading an army where 
None might escape 
The hidden snare. 
Cautiously planned 
By bold brigand, 
To sweep a legion 
From the land. 

Elate with glory he 

Led the charge of death and victory ; 

Leaving many a widow's son 

In the ranks of the dead, 

By the flashing gun 

When the w^ork of death was done. 

xn. 

' T was a ghastly scene. 

Under the pale moon-beam ; 

To see a living form 

Walking 'round, 

Where lately swept the storm 

Of shot and shell, 

Amid the high carnival. 

Belching from the mouth of heU : 

As if the fiends kept holiday. 

Between contending armies 

In the terrible affray. 

For fame or some such name, 

When mortals made of God 

Fall like worthless weeds 

On the hoof-beaten sod. 



96 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

xin. 
It made the peri sigh 
Such sights to see 
Under the sky, 
Performed by humanity. 
There heaps of dead, 
And the ground so red, 
With the heart blood's flow ; 
Thrilled this etherial wanderer 
With thoughts of human wo, 
That from her station in the sky 
She never might descry. 

xiv. 

NoSisters of Mercey there. 

Closed the eyelid's dying stare. 

A ghastly sentinel seemed to stand 

Guard over the fallen band : 

While gleams of the judgment day. 

Broke like a dull imprisoned ray 

' Round where those ghastly warriors lay, 

Locked in that deep sleep ; 

Which grim sentinels of eternity keep, 

On the world's outward rim ; 

Floating vague, floating dim 

Into the mystic bay ; 

Bearing its murdered dead away 

In cofiinless shrouds, 

To a viewless city under the clouds. 

XV. 

The peri spoke, 

And the warrior's cloak 

Fell from his hand : 

As she of the heavenly strand, 



A PER! OF THE PEARLY STRAND. 97 

Summoned him hence, 

To receive his soul's recompense. 

XVI. 

" Desecrator of the land; 
Leader of outlaw'd band, 
Thy search is vain ; 
For a crimson stain 
Has blotted from the book of life, 
Thy race and name. ^ 

And no act of thine, 
Mortal or divine, 
Can reinstate 
The widow's child 
Or lover's mate : 
This dire decree 
Is written in the book of fate, 
And shaE stand to all eternity. " 

xvn. 

Then the peri flew 
Out of his view. 
Out of his glance, 
Over the broad expanse, 
To a ship's drowning crew. 
For the tempest's strife. 
Had wrecked their hopes and life : 
And the angry tide 
Soon would their bodies hide 
From earth and day 
And all but that eternal ray 
Of intelligence, which shines 
Down from heaven's center 
Into earth's deepest mines. 
(9) 



98 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

XVIII. 

There again the peri saw 

In that strife for life, 

The selfishness of nature's law : 

As the captain and seamen strong, 

Sought theu' lives to j)rolong ; 

By securing the boat 

And each loosened plank that might float, 

From the drowning passengers there 

Full in Jche glare 

Of the eternal sheen, 

Lighting up the air 

'Kound that dying scene. 

X.IX. 

The captain and the seamen are, 

By the guidance of a star 

Floating away 

From where the doomed ship lay : 

Ere oblivion's wave 

Swept to yon dread shore 

Five hundred souls that are no more. 

XX. 

The peri watched the boat, 

As over the waters it did float, 

Many days and nights. 

Thro' weary leagues and lights ; 

Like some living thing 

Beai'ing westward on the wing^ 

Till starvation came, 

Gnawing at each mortal frame. 

One and then another 

Met the knife 

That the few survivors 



A PERI OF THE PEARL F STRAND. 99 

Might have life, 

Till the last strong man 

Gave up the ghost, 

And floated a wrecked soul 

Along the eternal coast. 

xxr. 

But the peri marked thro' all, 

That the weakest first 

Was doom'd to fall, 

Whether blest or curst 

It matter'd not at all. 

And she shuddered as she saw 

The workings of nature's law ; 

Making immortal men 

Seem like lions in a den, 

Grown so since those Eden beams 

Fell shining on our way, 

When the race was usher'd into day. 

XXII. 

The peri sought a city grand ; 

The metropolis 

Of a fair and favor'd land : 

There perchance to find 

Some charity for human kind. 

But she scarce had seen 

Its first faint twinkling gleam. 

When Poverty stalk'd along, 

Begging amid the wealthy throng, 

With haggard face 

And dishevel'd hair. 

She saw in every place 

Some evidence there 

Of man's fallen race, 



100 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

Begging in the street, 
Begging for bread to eat, 
With a " God save your soul; " 
As a penny from the purse 
Of the proud did roll. 

XXIII. 

The same mark'd selfishness 
Brought from the peri this : 
"Alas! the race of man, 
Joui'ney where'er you can, 
Are filled with cruelty 
On land or sea : 
Not like brothers kind, 
As in the halls of celestial light 
The sisterhood of bliss inclined. 

XXIV. 

" I find not any where 
Upon earth, friend or foes, 
Who have a kinder care 
For humanity's woes 
Than their own selfish birth, 
Rated at extremist worth. 

XXV. 

" 'Tis enough to bring a groan 
From the heart of any stone. 
To see how selfish man has grown, 
Since walking in the dawn of day ; 
When God drove him 
From the garden of Eden away, 
Into the world's cold shrine 
Under the curse divine. 



A PERI OF THE PEARLY STRAND. 101 

XXVI. 

** I'll wing my flight 
Back to the gates of light, 
Nor look again on such a sight. 
For pitty may not be 
Bestow'd on those 
Who worship in mockery; 
Or leader in the strife, 
Who values his own 
More than his neighbor's life ; 
Or a ship wreck'd crew, 
Drowning in the view 
Of the distant strand. 
Where thro' the vistas of eternity 
They enter the silent land ; 

XXVII. 

•' Or the poverty-stricken poor. 
Who beg their bread 
From door to door ; 
Seeking a crumb to gain, 
From the hand of the grand 
And the vain ; 
Who sally down the lane 
With flounces fine, 
To take shipping 
Along eternity's line. 

xxviri. 
"Poor race of mortals, adieu. " 
Thus saying, the peri flev/ ' 
Up thro' the empyreal heights, 
Into the celestial lights. 
Which divinely shine 
On souls in love 



102 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

With all the habitation fair 

Of Heaven above : 

To recount and tell 

What on her sight celestial fell 

In the world below ; 

Before the gods who linger'd there 

To hear the sad tale 

Of the peri fair ; 

That ' ' no spot of earth 

Could be found 

In winging the world around, 

Where seed from the sky 

Broad cast from an angej's hand, 

Might not droop and die 

On this sin-curst land." 



TSE FIELD OF FANCY . 103 



THE FIELD OF FANCY. 

Far and deep, 

Wide as creation's sweep, 

Thro' angles 

And thro' lines. 

The field of fancy winds. 

Fathomless, fatal, 

Fruitless, rare, 

Sown with the seeds 

Of devilish deeds. 

Is the field of fancy fair. 

The mortal mind 

May roam and wind 

Thro' all its acres unconfined : 

Building costly castles there, 

Glorious, golden, every-where. 

Just to see the frost 
Of Time, grown ghostly. 
When Death's darts are toss'd, 
Mar their heavenly shine. 
So grand and costly. 

There the dangerous dame 

Seeks her game, 

With barb'd and poison'd darts ; 

Whose shining targe 

Is the fairest human hearts. 



104 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

And the wither'd crone 
With a saintly moan, 
Oft goes winging 
Heavenward, thence alone 
To a golden throne. 

The millionaire 
Holds dominion there, 
In this field of fancy ; 
For future times 
Wherein to hoard his dimes. 

The dudes and dandies, too, 

Make a great-ado, 

About the possessions they 're coming to, 

In this realm of air, 

Located nowhere. 

There crystal springs 
And fountain flings. 
Sparkling spray about ; 
Where with bended pins 
Young fondlings fish for trout. 

Men and maids 
Put by their spades, 
Their pots and pans, 
To go turning 
Thro' its lands. 

In short 

'T is a great resort, 

For the crippled and the lams, 

The wise and the insane. 

Is this rare and fair domain. 



THE FIELD OF FANCY. 105 

We journey thence, 

Cheaply, without expense, 

Till counting the recompense ; 

And then we see 

No fruit or fee, in the field of fancy. 

But all our lives 

Like deserted hives. 

Or useless widow'd wives ; 

Waste and run to naught 

In fancy's fair and fragrant grot. 

And when we're old 
The title deeds we hold, 
Won't bring any gold. 
But rest as a void bequest 
On the tired breast. 

O! Fancy, fair, 

Thou angel rare. 

Why set the hidden snare, 

With such delicious bait. 

So tasteful to the human palate? 

Why doth the mind 
Thro' those vistas wind, 
At last to find 
A torment worse, 
Than Satan's curse ? 

Avoid this field 

Which naught doth yield, 

But wasted days 

In oblivion's maze. 

As the sun of eternity downward strays, 



106 CAMPBELL'S POEMS 

To set in the sea 

Away from you and me, 

Before our work is done ; 

And the parting blue 

Folds the soul forever from view. 



A TRIBUTE TO THE POETS. 107 



A TKIBUTE TO THE POETS. 

Of all the poets 

Of every name and kind, 

Byron had the maddest mind : 

The deepest plung'd in gloom, 

And the brightest far in bloom ; 

And could scan the stars of nearest sight, 

Or the heavens of transparent light. 

The mountain tops and winding streams 
Rose to grandeur in his dreams ; 
And the flash of his eagle eye, 
Like some divinity from the sky, 
Toying with earthly things, 
But wanting angel wings 
With which to rise and soar 
Thro' worlds of light forever more. 

Shelley's was a weaker mind, 
To infidelity inclined ; 
But with all a poet of the school, 
Who touches things sublime 
By pen and rule : 

Reveling in a world of thought 

Beyond the common lot, 

He won undying fame 

From the highest of his race and name : 

And tho' Death unseen, 

But surely known, 



1 08 CA MPBEL U S POEMS. 

Linger'd near his home, 

To take in youth away 

That soul of boundless sway, 

He wrote his name 

On the gateway of fame. 

High overhead 

By future ages to be read. 

The poet, Thomas Moore, 
Could earthward plod 
Or skyward soar ; 
And weave the worded line 
With imagery divine. 
Gifted was his mind 
And genial was his smile 
As any of mankind 
From the Emerald Isle. 

But for a melancholy mood 

We turn to witty Hood ; 

His dream of Aram and the Elm, 

Doth the sense o'erwhelm : 

For thrilling thoughts, 

Horrid shades and shapes 

That daily apes 

Our sojourn here, 

Mortals of some sphere, 

Mad and mirthful still. 

As we clamber up 

And down life's hill ; 

To the rustling shroud 

And coffin tree, 

Which murmurs under ground 

So solemn and profound, 

Its mystic mockery ; 



A TRIBUTE TO THE POETS. 109 

As WO go plodding away 
To the silent city 
Where Death holds SAvay. 

Shakespeare, intricate, profound, 
World renown'd. 
Wrote with the pen of a god ; 
Saw with a seraphic eye. 
And cxplor'd with unweari'd wing 
The boundless deep of the sky ; 
As well as every earthly thing, 
. Gathering data for his pen 
From large and little men. 
Till his became the master mind 
Of all mankind. 

Blind Milton's name 
Wakes a different train 
Of thought sublime ; 
Around his Paradise 
In the heavenly clime. 

Whate'er there is 

Of holiness, 

Centers 'round 

This son of thought profound : 

And sometimes we 

Seem to see 

Him cnthron'd 

With theDeity : 

With blind eyes bright, 

Full in the effulgence 

Of the paradise light. 

The poet Dante, 



110 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

Who wrote ' ' The Divine Comedy, " 

Of the flaming country 

Of purgatorial pain, 

And tlie celestial plain, 

Thrills the imagination. 

With the startling width 

Of limitless creation. 

Boundless, vast, sublime. 

Endless, eternal, divine. 

With cities builded on no ground, 

And kingdoms without sound ; 

And fires that light 

Grim Pluto's bound. 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning, she, 
The queen of English poesy. 
Of pure and gentle mind, 
'Rang'd unconfin'd 
Thro' every fair and fragrant grot, 
CuUmg divinest thought. 
For the weary and the dull 
And lovers of the beautiful. 

Thou gentle spirit fair, 
Heavenly as the sisterhood of air, 
In our admiration 
We worship thee. 

And thy friendless " Aurora Leigh, " 
As down the steep descent she ran. 
From that heartless woman 
And ungodly man. 
In her wild and frenzi'd fright. 
Out into the night, 
"As far as God" from their sight. 



A TRIBUTE TO THE POETS. m 

Mrs. Hemans, too, 
Born with the art divine, 
Sings above the azure hue 
In the paradisal clime, 
With features all benign. 

When the evening shadows flit 

And grow longer on the ground ; 

I love in peace to sit 

And read thy running line ; 

Cadentic and sublime ; 

For a heavenly light 

Fair and bright. 

Plays upon thy page 

Fraught with knowledge. 

And as I scan 

The rythm and the rhyme, 

Seraphs rare with golden hair. 

Come softly flitting, round 

With gentle rustling sound, 

To pull aside the veil 

Which hides the world 

So fair and pale 

From mortal eyes 

Beneath these clouded skies. 

Campbell, in his time. 

Wrote a deathless rhyme 

Inscrib'd to the angel Hope, 

Cheering immortal man 

'Gainst the fiends and fates to cope ; 

Bidding him stand 

With this herald emblematic in his hand. 

Whether amid the frozen Alps 



112 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

Or at the " panting line," 

This angel cheers him with her song 

As he journeys to the judgment dawn. 

Look at Homer 

Ere we go, 

Who sprang from parentage 

Doubtful, low. 

And rose with the force 

Of mighty genius 

Along the immortal course, 

Till his guiding star 

Shines in the constellation far 

Where all the hosts of heaven are, 

Deathless as before the fall ; 

When in celestial airs 

Hung golden stairs. 

And angelic eyes 

Shone out of the skies, 

On scenery fair 

As those heavenly visitants were, 

Who met with mortals here below 

in the ages long ago. 

These are some of the names 
Which our admiration claims ; 
For the immortal strains 
They left behind, 
To cheer the mind 
With thoughts of bliss 
Beyond this world's wilderness. 

May singers ever sing 
Of those disembodi'd ones, 
Gone, fetterless and free, 



A TRIBUTE TO THE POETS. 113 

Away from this mortality, 

Into the paradise light 

From all that dimmed 

Their seraph sight ; 

As they wended here below, 

Sometimes in poverty, 

Sometimes in woe. 

Too dire for you or mc to know. 

! ye bards sublime, 

Tenants of that ethereal clime, 

Where heavenly wanderers play 

On golden lutes. 

Love's divinest lay. 

Amid those airs 

Where earthly cares 

Never intrudes 

On your moments or your moods ; 

O ! cease not to sing 

Some heartfelt offering, 

In yon fair clime. 

To cheer the flow 

Of eternal time. 

As its unending ages go 

Fleeting on 

Beyond where tempests blow. 

CIO) 



114 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 



LINES TO MARIANNA. 

Friend of my youth, 

From whom in other years 

I turn'd like Ruth, 

With eyes suffus'd in tears, 

To wander away 

Thro' the world and its throng. 

With nothing to cheer my way 

Save the lingering notes of your song. 

Long years have past by, 

I've wandered some distance since then ; 

But nowhere have I 

Met daughter more fair among men. 

And since Father Time 

Has plac'd on your brow, 

His signet divine 

Making you more womanly now ; 

I long to turn back 
And greet thee again ; 
From the far winding track 
I've trac'd o'er the plain : 
With that ardor and love, 
That affection for you. 
Which came from above 
When life was budding to view. 

I see thee, as then. 

Thro' the mists of twenty years, 

(Which so checker'd hath been, 



LINES TO MART ANN A. 115 

With mirth, music, and tears), 
True, noble, and grand. 
With affection and love, 
Leading three babes by the hand 
To the fair world above. 

And a halo of light 
Falls gently around. 
While amber pearls bright. 
Sparkle with sound. 
As the lingering notes of the lay 
Break again On my ear, 
Which you sang on that day 
" To the faithful, good cheer. " 

Friend of my youth, 
The sentiment told. 
Precious as truth 
More lasting than gold ; 
(In the lines I have penn'd), 
Shall never grow less 
Where'er I may wend, 
Thro' cheer or distress. 

And in the evening of life, 
Amid its sunset glow. 
When the dark angel of strife 
Ruffles my pUlow, 
The last thought of earth 
Shall be of my friend, 
(Nearer than sister by birth). 
As to the shores eternal I tend. 



116 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 



LITTLE MAUD. 

The night was wild without, 
The monntain spirit roam'd about, 
The last flickering lamp gone out. 
Two little bare feet 
Went wandering thro' the street. 
Shelterless and lone, 
To nobody's home, 
Praying thus in monotone. 

" O ! thou God of earth and sky. 
Let me find a nook in which to die, 
With the wicked angels standing by ; 
For the good of earth forsake 
And make me the devil's pathway take, 
Without a word of cheer 
Or listening ear 
As I wander thro' the raindrops here. 

" The rich and great 
Sit enthron'd in state. 
Before a cheerful fire grate. 
While my bare feet on these stones 
Cause anguish soul groans : 
Making me hate the earth 
And the race that gave me birth, 
For I'm of little worth." 

She came to the river Thames, 
Full of aches and pains, 
With addl'd brains, 



LITTLE MAUD. 117 

And from a promontory high 

She look'd into the angry sky, 

Bidding the "fiends appear 

And take her from this wretched sphere 

While there's nobody near." 

The water spirit heard a fall, 

A gurgling, gasping splash, that was all ; 

And little Maud so small 

Found still repose 

As the river flows. 

From the life of an outcast, 

Shelter'd in peace at last 

Beyond the ringing blast. 

Some fishermen found 

The forsaken and the drown'd 

On their wonted round ; 

And they bore her from the wave 

To a new made grave. 

In a lonely nook on shore 

The body and nothing more, 

For the soul had gone before. 

And as those harden'd men 

Perform'd the office of friendship then, 

A light all fair and bright fell on their ken ; 

And a chorus soft and low, 

From whence they did not know. 

Was wafted round them there. 

By unseen messengers of the air 

Sorrowing for the soul of Maud so fair. 



118 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 



THE INDIAN'S DOOM. 

What decree of humanity 
Hatli doom'd the Indian to perish 
In the western sea ? 
For wasn't this land, 
A birthright inheritance 
From the Almighty's hand ? 

Else why was he found on freedom's ground 

Before the white man's tread 

Woke an echo round, 

Holding dominion here, 

Over the western wilds, 

The bison and the deer ? 

What ages ere we found this land so fair, 

Did the Indian unrestraiu'd 

Roam here and there, 

Worshiping the great Manitou, 

Who rules ' ' The happy hunting ground, " 

Fill'd with game and foliage too ? 

From Indian bands we've reft these lands, 

Ruthlessly and forever, 

With stronger hands, 

All but a portion small. 

And soon, too soon, 

They will have none at all. 



THE INDIAN'S DOOM. 119 

And when tlie last shall have forever past 

Into the boundless universe 

So vague and vast. 

How shall we answer then 

For obliterating from the records of time, 

The name and the race of the red men ? 



120 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 



THE GOLDEN AGE. 

'T WAS in that age when earth was young 
And " Time his first birth-day told by the sun," 
That angels and gods together stray'd 
Thro' the Orient's tranquil shade ; 
Spell bound with the speech, 
Those heavenly heralds held 
While talking each to each 
In that wondrous age of eld. 

'T Avas long ere sin 

Had let her midnight darkness in 

Upon that sunny glade, 

Where our first parents stray'd. 

And the artful enemy exchang'd for blis3 

Those thoughts of wickedness, 

Turning that paradise rare 

Into a garden of despair. 

Whole happy days went by 

Conversing with visitants of the sky, 

Whose glorious light did seem 

Stainless as the stream, 

Which, meandering wide 

With glorious gleam, 

Bears its mercy 

Throughout the land of the glorified. 

Celestial wanderer's from the sky 
Earthward ofttimes cast an eye, 



THE GOLDEN AGE. 121 

And would frequent wait 

And linger late, 

Held by the loving sound 

Of earthly accents round, 

Till their former heights they couldn't reach, 

Eesistless held by human speech. 

'T was no uncommon thing. 

At the sunset hour, 

To see a heavenly wing 

And mortal maid in love's bower ; 

Or straying on the glade, 

Under the silvery moon, 

Pouring to the timbrel all in tune, 

Sweeter songs than mortals sing. 

And gods, that else might be 

Heavenly patterns of divinity, 

Would slake their thirst, 

Using holy exultations, 

That ofttimes burst 

In such rapturous lore, 

As to startle favor'd mortals 

"Whom they visited on earth's shore. 

What heaven could brighter seem 

Than the infinitesimal gleam, 

Shed over those Eden groves 

From the light that flows 

Pei-petual and resplendent on, 

As when earth was usher'd into dawn 

Not for you and me 

But bright angels of divinity. 

(11) 



122 CAMPBELUS POEMS. 

The golden age is gone, 

And the raptures of its song 

Have died from out the sky : 

And instead thereof many a sinful sigh 

Goes upward from the race, 

To heaven's highest place ; 

As the toiling millions strive 

For food to keep the soul alive. 

The mischief that was done. 

When our Mother Eve 

Listened to the artful serpent's tongue 

You'd scarce believe ; 

For, instead of fairest fruit. 

Weeds, bitter at the root, 

Choke and sap the soil. 

Whereon mankind is doom'd to toil, 

For bread to eat, 

With more of bitterness than sweet. 

That garden, once so fau', ^ 

Can scarce be found 

With greatest skill and care. 

There desolation stalks around 

Those perfum'd paths so neat. 

Where gods and maidens used to meet. 

And those fragrant groves, 

Where angels told the story of their loves 

To enraptur'd ears. 

Waking that heavenly thrill 

Which moves to madness the human will, 

Neglected stand without a hand. 

To clear their wild entanglements 

From the deserted land. 



TFIE GOLDEN AGE. 123 

Yes, that golden age is dead, 
The heavenly minstrelsy hath fled, 
Who tun'd their lyres divine 
In that olden time ; 
And went walking with our race, 
Lovingly together through 
Those lands of light 
When our earth was new. 

Shall we not again. 

In some shining sphere. 

Far remote from pain. 

Meet those who came here 

From the heavenly plain, 

Our primitive race to cheer, 

And always would have staid 

But for the mischief the serpent made ? 



124 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 



TIME'S TASK. 

Working, working, 

Never shirking, 

Time is busy now, 

Carving wrinkles 

On each brow. 

While all around doth glow, 

The frosty sprinkles 

Of his snow. 

He never sleeps 
Or sorrowing weeps, 
As his human prey 
Goes gliding away 
Down creation's steeps, 
Into the tomb 
And night of gloom. 
Were duration's vigil keeps. 

In the noiseless night, 

While the star gems twinkle 

Adown the crystalline height. 

He plies his dole 

With ceaseless roll, 

'Round the green earth. 

From pole to pole, 

On every shape of human birth. 

In the brightest day 
Earth's rarest and fairest 



TIME'S TASK. 125 



He spirits away, 

Thro' the breakers and the spray ; 

While the liquid hue 

Of love's eyes of blue, 

Instant turn to lead 

At the approach of his tread. 

Why doth he take to the skies 
Those we love dearest 
Away from our eyes. 
Leaving friends nearest 
To pine with the sighs, 
Which daily doth fall, 
'Round the white rustling shroud 
And dark coffin'd pall ? 

But you must rest, 
And so must I, 
And it may be best, 
Tho' we don't know why,- 
That Time should sing 
His ceaseless lullaby. 
And ply his task 
Till every life is past. 

Above the thunder's sound 

Or under ground. 

He still doth tramp and tread. 

Past the living and the dead : 

Without a stay or stand. 

Turning all things gray 

On every hand. 

By the magic mystery of his wand. 



126 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



A MADKIGAL. 

The roses bloom in the garden, 
The ivy vine creeps over the wall — 
The writer asks your pardon, 
Craves it from one and all, 
For penning this simple madrigal. 

This madrigal so frail and small 
While afloat on the ocean round. 
Fetterless, free as heaven's portals be, 
To the pardon'd one and all, 
Who journey thence from under ground. 

It may bear no blooms 
Amid the scorching sun, 
As time doth onward run ; 
Or 'neath the softest moons 
For the variation of its tunes. 

Like an unheard bell, 

Or a hidden way -side flower, 

Or a blushing asphodel 

In an angel's bower. 

Thy fate, ah ! who may teU ? 

Life's best lay 
May perish in a day, 
Emblematic of the fate of man, 
On this earthly sj^an. 
Where all things turn to clay. 



A MADRIGAL. 127 

Madrigal and man 
Shall find the mold. 
Shut from gleams of gold, 
At the end of life's short span, 
Beneath the silent wold. 

But a deathless bloom 

Shall break beyond the tomb, 

Where peris wait 

With loving lips elate, 

To welcome from the gloom. 

Out of the cold 

Into the fold, 

Where heavenly songs are told, 

As the eternal changelessness 

Is forever onward rolled. 

Then my lovely queen, 
While the grass is green, 
Share thy charms with me ; 
Ere the night of death 
Sets us free ; 

For a woman's smile, 
Will cheer the while. 
The soul of man, 
For its distant flight. 
As naught else can. 



12H CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



THE FOLIOS OF THE FATHERS. 

Blessed tomes 

That fill our homes, 

Are the folios of the fathers ; 

Wells of wisdom vast, 

Records of the silent past, 

Penn'd by hands divine 

For your reading and for mine. 

Counselors and sages 

Of all times and all ages, 

Have left undying lines 

On their leaflets and their pages, 

Enduring as eternal time, 

While a mortal shall remain 

Imaged like the God divine. 

Your's are the voices 

At which the soul rejoices 

In a wider range and sway, 

Mindful of the knowledge ye convey ; 

More precious than golden ore, 

Or diamonds from Labrador, 

To those who con your pages o'er. 

From out the volumes bound 
There comes a solemn sound, 
Of those who wrote and read, 
From the regions of dim fancy 
And the by-ways of the dead. 



THE FOLIOS OF THE FATHERS. 129 

As in silence tliey relate 
The decrees of mortal fate. 

It matters not how poor thou art, 

They will impart 

Knowledge to friend or foe 

In this endless round below 

Of recurring years, 

As onward through the gloom 

We go plodding to the tomb. 

Milton still sings of Paradise, 

Tho' millions live with hearts of ice ; 

Some there are who hear the lay 

His heavenly harp is sounding 

From over the way. 

And Shakespeare tells us still 

Something of the human wiU. 

Our Franklin's soul, 

From out the destin'd goal, 

Views the progress of a work 

On earth begun ; 

And his manly words of cheer 

Help many a weary one. 

Stumbling o' er life's highway here. 

Lord Bacon and his name 

Thrills the student's frame. 

With the mighty gifts of mind 

Possessed by one of human kind. 

And Plato in his place 

Out strips the lightning's pace. 

Thro' the realm of matter and of mind. 



130 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

I love those folios divine 

As dniukavds love their wiue ; 

Aud at each perusal my soul runs o' er 

With draughts still sweeter than before. 

Books make friends where'er I be, 

In the social circle 

Or ou the stormy sea. 

They are companions dear, 
Creating friendships most sincere. 
The wise of ages gone 
Speak to us lingering here. 
With voice that seems our own. 
Love, joy, and sorrow we find 
In this sweet communion of mind. 

My books I prize 

More than all else beneath the skies. 

They cheer my lonely hours, 

Revive my languid powers, 

And make this earth 

A heaven seem 

By the brightness of its beam. 

Ye folios divine. 

Treasures heavenly mine, 

I love each word and line ; 

Aud over your covers, 

When the midnight hovers. 

At times will fall a golden ray 

From pen of the writer gone away. 



THE LOST ANQEL. 131 



THE LOST ANGEL. 



Once an angel lost her way 
In straying from the fount of day, 
Too near the sinful world, 
With pinions partly furled 
And rapturous eye intent, 
Viewing earth's scenery 
Along the way she went. 

n. 

A halo of celestial light 

Shone round this heavenly sprite, 

While the very air 

As she went winging there, 

Turn'd golden with the glow 

Of bright particles, 

Which from Alla's throne doth go. 

m. 

But lingering in listless mood. 

Too long away from the heavenly sisterhood, 

And mingling with earth's grosser element, 

She a strange sensation felt, 

Of pleasure and of pain, 

Disturbing the equipoise 

Of her immortal frame. 

rv. 

She beheld a garden fair, 



132 campbujLL's poems. 

In whicli assembled were 
A group of laughing belles, 
A troop of fashion's swells, 
Making merry with dance and song, 
Where weary she alighted 
And ling-ered long. 



Lovers wreathed in flowers. 

Fairest from this world of ours, 

Sported thro' the maze 

Of that delightful haze, 

Which hung around the grove, 

Bright and beautiful, 

As aught this side the land of Jove. 

VI. 

The angel felt a thrill intense, 

A seeming strange suspense. 

To join the merry-making there. 

And taste the joys of earth so rare ; 

But as she faltered in her stay. 

She heard a gentle voice 

Bidding " back to the gates of day " ; 

VII. 

Whereat her wings she instant raised 

And into the ethereal depths of heaven gazed ; 

But thrice repeated ere her wings would do 

Her former will, she did renew 

The effort to rise and soar. 

Away from that delightful grove 

To the far-off heavenly shore. 



THE LOST ANGEL. I33 

vni. 
A bright celestial beam 
Broke round the parting scene, 
As the angel upward flew 
Out of that earthly company's view ; 
While long there lingering stood 
Some wondering ones 
Of the earthly sisterhood. 

IX. 

The angel on her way 

Upward winging, sought the realm of day, 

But something held her back ; 

The former impulse she seemed to lack, 

For her wings unwonted bore 

Her circling round and round, 

In a way unsought before. 

X. 

At times the gates seemed opening to 
Her former view ; 
But then a darkness closed around 
In the depths of space profound ; 
Where ceaseless flying ever 
She still kept sighing, 
" Shall I get there never?" 

XI. 

Alas ! that glimpse of earth 

Robbed her of the heavenly birth ; 

For in an outward circle doomed to stray. 

She wings the time away. 

Lost amid the mystic spheres 

To the shining ones 

And the eternal years. 



134 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

xn. 

Lost to heaven and hope, 

Away on the outward slope 

Of dark duration far, 

Beyond earth, moon, or star, 

She onward ever flies. 

Round and round 

Thro' the vast and viewless skies. 



PASS NOT THAT GRAVE. 135 



PASS NOT THAT GEAVE. 

Pass not that grave 

Without placing a flower there ; 

What matter to you or me, 

Who fought for equal liberty, 

That the body lying there 

Once marched away 

Uniformed in gray, 

Striking at the flag 

Which was our father's care, 

When British sons 

And murderous guns, 

Laid waste the land so fair ? 

Place a flower on that mound 

While decking round 

Union graves on holy ground ; 

For it is but just 

As Death levels all 

To the darkness of the pall. 

And tho' misguided, they 

Harm us not to-day. 

As 'neath the silent ground 

They sleep in solemn state profound, 

Where you and I must wait 

Time's mysterious round. 

A flower for the dead, 
From the living overhead. 
Is but a tribute just 



136 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

To the molderiug dust, 

From those who stay 

To those away 

On that mystic pilgrimage, 

Which may last alway : 

Where never arms 

Or human harms 

Shall touch disembodied ones, 

Marching thro' other dawns. 

'T would seem as tho' 

When past a rebel's grave we go, 

Decking with bloom 

The union tomb, 

That hatred lingered still 

In living breasts 

Which the iron will 

Of the grim messenger can not Tcill, 

For long years have past. 

Since the last 

Rebel gun 

Broke on the blast. 

Oh ! is it just 

To the sacred dust 

Of departed man, that mortal can 

Withhold a flower from 

The dead and dumb. 

While there is pldnty for every fallen son ■ 

No matter tho' we hate the living foe, 

Who sought destruction, death, and woe 

This side yon bier. 

Where the common tear 

Falls between the living 

And the lifeless here ? 



PASS NOT THAT GRAVE. 137 

A flower for the blue, 

A flower for the gray, 

Can not harm you, 

While it may 

Drive dull grief away 

From some who gather round 

The sHent mound, 

Thro' kindship's tie 

And affection's sigh, 

For those who sleep 

In the cold earth deep, 

As we pass them by. 

Shall we do less 
Than the Gods of forgiveness ; 
Who bring from the worlds of Paradise 
Their floral offering's fair and nice ? 
The first that blooms 
For union and rebel tombs ? 
Without distinction now 
That Death's cold hand 
Hath touched each brow ; 
And the soul imaculate. 
Is no longer moved 
By human hate ? 
(12) 



138 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 



DOKOTHY DOBBINS. 

"A WEDDING ring is a pretty thing, 
A priaked up bride is fair, 
With roses and with posies 
And bright filigrees in her hair ; 
But then there is no trusting of the men, 
And if I were young again 
I would of them all beware. 

' ' Sweet as the breath of May they'll court you to day 
But to morrow take care ; 
They'll all stray away 
The Lord only knows where, 
And he never will say ; 
For their head swims with varying whims 
At each girl who trips past them with jaunty air." 

And Dorothy Dobbins weaving with bobbins 
Shook her gray head, 
As if quite afraid of what she had said, 
Tho' lovers were the last thing she might dread , 
But you can't always tell who's been a belle 
When Time's Avrinkled fingers on the forehead is laid 
" Lovers, I've had them, I know them," she said. 

"This I will own wherever you roam 
While your company's new. 
There's no one that's equal to you ; 
You may make choice of the men, 
For nine out of ten 



DOROTHY DOBBINS. . I39 

Will make an ado 
Until pliglited-and then ? 

' ' Should they chance to meet in a trance 
Another by mountain or lake, 
When your w6dding gown's made, 
They'll leave you in the shade 
With your eight kinds of cake, 
To mould on the shelf where its laid, 
Just for her dear little sake. 

" Once my wedding gown was the talk of the town; 
But it never went on ; 
For my Dumpling, my Don, 
With another was gone. 
And never the cake on the table was set, 
But there is no use to pine or regret — 
Tho' I'm Dorothy Dobbins as yet. 

" Let it all go, I'm glad it was so ; 
It was a lesson well learned. 
For oft had I spurned 
Some suitor, brave, manly and true, 
Because his kerchief was black 
Or his eyes wasn't blue, 
I gave him the slip or the sack. 

" But now I'm old and turned to a scold, 
There's one thing I know. 
Had I the face with my ribbons and lace 
Of thirty summers ago, 
I'd pay off the men 
As a part of the debt that I owe. 
Especially Don, Dedrich, and Ben. 



140 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

" For, on my word fair, 't is little they care 
Spite the fine things that they say, 
How a woman's heart aches, 
Or what cordial she takes. 
If they have their own way ; 
Promises seldom keep men under awe, 
They're about as lasting as snow in a thaw. 

"-Quite easy to make and easy to break, 
While your wedding morn 
Dawns dim and forlorn ; 
Like the rustle and tussle 
Of swine in the coi-n ; 
As you stand once again 
Betrayed by the men. 

" To sit quietly down the talk of the town, 
All mateless, dateless. 
Full of pains and distress, 
While your lover's away, 
The bride-groom gay 
Of some powdered prude ; 
A bundle of falsehood and foible quite rude. 

" Don't mention the men, I'm like a lost hen. 

Without chick, pullet, or mate, 

Resigned to my fate. 

Let your love stories be when you're talking to me." 

And she shook her gray head, 
" Children once burnt in the fire have a dread. 

Lovers, I know them, I 've seen them," she said. 



LEFT BEHIND TO DIE. 141 



LEFT BEHIND TO DIE. 

Tramp, tramp, tramp, along 

Thro' all the weary day, 
Went our army in a throng. 

Marching to meet the gray ; 

From the Wilderness away, 
Day in, day out, 
Over a weary, dreary route. 

Marching, ever marching on, 

With the flag of freedom borne ahead, 

Thro' darkness and thro' dawn 
Went our dauntless army's tread. 
Away from the wounded and the dead, 

Away from the weary and the lame 

Who couldn't follow in the train. 

A youth, with curls of gold 

And breast to danger steel'd, 
Favorite of some loving fold. 

To exhausted nature was forced to yield ; 

Not like hero on the field, 
But falling from the ranks that day 
By the roadside, to breathe his life away. 

A sickening sense came o'er his frame, 

And a whisper in his ear 
Spoke the youthful hero's name. 

Saying, ' ' What dost thou near 

My realm so drear ? 



142 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

For this thy suit of blue, 

Don Death's robes, I give them you. " 

Gone was our army then ; 

The soften'd moonlight fell 
On his death struck ken, 

By the roadside in the dell. 

He mourned a little spell 
Knowing that his strength was gone, 
And couldn't follow the flag of freedom on. 

His fairy dream of fame. 
So beautiful and bright, 

Was but an empty name 
Wreathed in jems of light. 
Glimmering in the distant moonlight, 

Falling on those southern hills. 

And blood stained rills. 

The aged mother waiting ■ 
And watching at the door, 

His Anna's heart breaking 
In that cottage home of yore. 
For a step's returning never more : 

Troubled his weary soul 

With the dying life stream's roll. 

No friends are watching there 
By the roadside in the grass, 

But angels of the air 

Point him heavenward as thy pass, 
To an immortal company, one mass, 

Tenting on a pleasant plain. 

Where never enters weariness or pain. 



LEFT BEHIND TO DIE. 143 

Backward falls tlie fainting head, 

The soul on pilgrimage eternal 
To bright mansions hath sped, 

And odorous airs supernal, 

Where duration's long diurnal 
Keeps its vigil round 
Yon heavenly camping-ground. 

Nobly did he stand 

And nobly did he fall. 
In this favored land 

Freedom's home for all. 

And it matters not at all 
The lack of burial or of rite, 
For his soul pass'd heaven's gate that night. 



144 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



THE KINGDOM OF SOULS. 

There's a kingdom of souls 

Just over the way, 
Where celestial bell-tolls 

Ring all thro' the day; 
And music floats 
In softest notes, 
Thro' vistas and thro' grots, 

Bright as blooms of May. 

There shining ones 

With crowns of fairest sheen ; 
Greet on celestial lawns 

Heaven's royal Prince supreme : 
Who holds dominion far 
Past crystal bar 
And outmost star, 

Shedding light unseen. 

Just past its glowing portals 
And gates of shining hue. 

Gathered are those bright immortals 
That faded from our view, 

In those early days 

Of childhood's changeful maze, 

When Death's dark angel strays 
Some dreadful deeds to do. 

This kingdom golden seems 

With rippling rivers flowing, 
Which to immortal dreams 



THE KINGDOM OF SOULS. 145 

Is beautiful past our knowing : 
With groves of shining light 
And birds of plumage bright, 
Where never falls a ray of night 

On seraphs round and round agoing. 

Souls are ever passing thence, 

All guideless and alone. 
From out the dread suspense 

Which in sepulchers is known, 
By the universal reign 
Of no motion, mind, or brain 
That doth there attain, 

'Neath the cold head-stone. 

This land of spirits bright 

Is the solace and the stay 
Of blest hopes, delight. 

Which dawns upon our way, 
Leading from the gloom, 
Leading from the tomb, 
And that narrow room 

Builded out of clay. 

One day, freed from fetters here, 
The soul shall rise on seraph's wing, 

Away thro' the ether clear. 
Into realms where ever sing 

The praises of our God ; 

Those sandled prophets shod, 

Whose endless hallelujahs applaud 
Its welcome entering. 

(13) 



146 CAMPBELL.^ POEMS. 



ON PICKET GUAED. 

The sentinel jDacing his beat 

While the army is sleeping around, 
Ofttimes in his visions will greet 

Some loved whisper or sound, 
From his far away home ; 

Where the moonbeam and stars 
More bright to his vision hath shown 

Since he entered the wars. 

Soft and musical now 

It breaks on his dreamy ear. 
While round the stern brow 

Falls a light bright and clear ; 
But quick from the blissful vision he wakes 

Recalling the thoughts that roam, 
For the gray coated rifleman breaks 

The dream he is dreaming of home. 

Along the skirmish lines 

Dreadful death flashes are seen, 
Lighting the forest of pines 

With their glimmer and gleam : 
While the cannon's boomings of dread 

Break loud on the^ ear. 
And the tramping and tread 

Tells that the battle is here. 

With sash on his shoulder 
And sword in liis hand, 



Oy PICKET GUARD. 147 

To the foeman grown bolder 

He cheers his brave little band ; 
On thro' the belching of hail 

Into the chasm of death, 
Amid music and wail 

And groaning and moaning for breath. 



Wounded in the arm ! 

'T is nothing, a scratch, and no more : 
He waves the old flag for a charm 

To cheer the charge once more ; 
Where the walls of the slain 

And the heaps of the dead, 
Cover mountain and plain, 

Felled by grape-shot and lead. 

The leader bids on to the strife, 

Saying, ' ' Rally, boys, rally, 
For home, freedom, and life. " 

Again and again they sally 
On the verge of the desperate line, 

Where the flag of fame gleams 
And the flickering death lights shine, 

Along the brooldets and streams. 

He wavers, he falls. 

With his face to the foe. 
While with the last breath of courage he calls, 
" God aid you, General, I go. " 
And Death with his mantle of gloom 

Wraps the mangled remains 
In that strange sleeping swoon 

Where the soul its liberty gains. 



148 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

Far away in the East 

waits a wife and children fail' ; 
To greet the one released 

Whom they worship there, 
Returning on the green 

Home from the war 
In the peaceful Autumn's gleam, 

Where the loved and loving are. 

Alas ! they wait in vain ; 

Those anxious eyes will tire 
Ere returning home again 

Children greet their sire : 
Faithful before the picket's view, 

Faithful in the battle's broil, 
He changed his suit of blue 

For one that will never soil. 

Once on picket guard, 

But now at another post. 
Stand many vet'rans marred 

With the celestial host : 
Beyond the Jordan far 

AVhere the sun's meridian line 
Shows never a scar 

Eeceiv'd in defending Liberty's shrine. 



OUR OLD COMMANDER'S LAST BATTLE. I49 



OUR OLD COMMANDER'S LAST BATTLE. 



NOTE. 

These lines were written July 13Lh, 1885, and puMished on the 21st 
of the same mouth in the " Newcark Mo ruing Register," under the 
name or title, of " Corporal Campbell, Battery H, First Rhode Island 
Light Artillery; " the death of General Grant occurring on the morn- 
ing of the 23rd, at 8:08 o'clock A. M. On two occasions the writer 
acted as Orderly, in carrying messages, for the distinguished Hero 
during the heat of battle.— C. 



On Mt. MacGregor's brow 
Grant is fighting now 

A more deadly foe 
Than the foe of Mission Ridge, 
Led by Bragg and Breckinridge 

Against us long ago, 

Thro' scenes of desolating woe. 

Death commands the field 

With breast-plate and shield 
Of darksome hue ; 

All bent and battered 

With human blood bespattered, 
Shed from victims not a few 
When life was budding into view. 

Dauntless doth he stand 
Fighting single hand 

With iron will : 
Uncomplaining in the fray, 



150 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

Tho' wounds wear life away, 
He bravely battles still 
With this foe of more than mortal skill. 

Writing undying lines 

Between Death's saber shines, 
Circling round him there ; 

On the verge of doom 

At the doorway of the tomb, 
Where less manly mortals stand 
Speechless, pale, before the eternal strand. 

Thou peerless man, 

In the foremost van 

Of all the earth to-day ; 

Old boys in blue, 

Faithful, brave, and true, 
Would rally once again 
To save their chief from pain ; 

Could it be 

That loyalty 

Might that shade repel : 

Mustering bands 
. From all the lands 
You may depend, 
Would our dying chief defend. 

Softly speak, a hero dies 
Before our eyes, 

While manhood's bloom 
Rests on the brow. 
Wreathed in fame's garland now : 

Death struck for the tomb. 

So soon, too soon. 



HOBBIES. 151 



HOBBIES. 



NOTE. 

The term hobbiea is not a very euphonious word; yet it seems quite 
suggestive. An army miglit be recruited out of the vast number of 
equestrians who are riding hobby-horses to-day, formidable cnougli 
to put to flight even the moslems with their battle cry of "Allah 
Achbar, " and a sufficient number still remain to run the affairs of 
life.— C. 



I. 

The world is full of parliaments 

Of malcontents and lobbies, 

Of dainty nice things 

And of dandy nobbies ; 

Of birds with speckel'd wings, 

Of large and little things. 

Of liberty, love, and law, 

Of talking saints 

And prodigies of awe : 

Of gold and ghosts. 

Of prosy tangled toasts, 

Of flowers fair 

And angels rare. 

Waiting to be worship'd 

On the share : 

Which might fill a page 

With useful knowledge, 

For the student 

Of school or college : 



152 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

But less pretentious, I 

To pen a line or thought divine 

On hobbies will try. 



n. 

"Ho! there, 
Do n't you dare 
To nome a straw 
Or look a stare, 
My word is law, 
And I '11 freeze you unaware 
Into awe ; 

For I 'm the great ruler 
Mogul, mighty, king Bergaw. 

in. 
"I'll send you to the pen 
If you wink again. 
Or rob a hen. 
For 'tis me 
And the Deity 
That's running the world, 
Do n't you see ? 
And with my hand 
I command 
The legion law band. 
Take off your hat, 
You dirty brat. 

For you killed dame Marlow's cat, 
And void of pride 
You wear the hide 
Tanned for a cravat. 
The law must stand ; 
'T is my command. 



HOBBIES. 153 

That you wear shackles on your hand, 
Until you 're dead and tanned : 
For I 'm the end of law, 
Mogul, mighty, king Bergaw. " 



IV. 

Some ladies there are 
"Who talk like a star, 
To men not behind them far ; 
With hysterics and sighs, 
Something in this wise : 
" It has long been my hobby 
To do something shoddy. 
Something brilliant and strange, 
And make a great change 
In the face of the times ; 
Had I only the dollars and dimes 
With which to ring up the chimes, 
Of all that 's absurd : 
For much have I heard 
In country and city. 
How some people pity 
A waif on the Avave 
Wading down to her grave ; 
Thro' trouble and woe 
To the sands and the strands 
Where Death's fleet coursers go ; 
Speeding and careering onward below : 
With drunken Bill Brown 
Or papa's new coachman 
I'd skip out of town. 
Right into the coal-yard of hell, 
Burning up, burning down, 
Burning far fathoms around, 



154 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

There forever to dwell 
Long ages and stages, 
Ah ! who may tell," 

The fisherman, he 
Has a great hobby, 

Which he rides by the braes and the tides, 
And sings all the day 
While they nibble away : 
" I^d sooner than own a big schooner 
Right from the Orient ; 
Much sooner sit fishing 
Than rule president, 

VI, 

" Ever wishing to be fishing 
'Tis much more delight. 
Than to go kissing 
The girls on a moonlight night. 
O yes ! it is a pleasure 
Beyond any measure, 
Although I never get a bite. 

VII. 

" You surely can not blame 
A man of my peculiar frame, 
Who prefers the lily pools 
To the giddy gaudy fools. 
Whose snare of meshes twine 
'Round simple souls divine : 
With coquetry and care ; 
Till the heart stands still 
Made captive by their will, 



HOBBIES. 155 

At much smaller pay 
Than the wages of a day ; 
Or to fish all night 
And never get a bite ? " 

VIII. 

An other hobby hereabout 
After the show is out, 
A dozen duffoons will step up 
With a bow and a hickup, 
Saying, " Ladies, dear, may we steer 
You home to night ? " 
Whereat the answer comes most polite, 
" No, gentle sirs, 
'T would not be right, 
You did n't bring us here ; 
Besides, is n't it queer 
At this late hour to come about 
And rather thin? 
You did n't take us out 
So you can not take us in. 

IX. 

"Although we're half dead forbeaus, 
And would resort to any scheme 
To capture with his clothes. 
Be he fat or be he lean, 
An escort fair with wig or hair, 
Yet we would n't dare 
This moonlight night, 
To pass in sight 
Of all the people's stare 
Going from this place of prayer : 
For 't would be misunderstood 



156 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

Among the married sisterhood ; 
So we '11 say, please go away, 
But call some pleasant day 
When the folks are making hay." 



Ben Butler's hobby 
Was the white-house lobby. 
Up the capital hill 
He 'd determined to go 
In spite of the devil's will ; 
And thus to himself would say : 
" I '11 get to it yet, and that you '11 see, 
If not in this, in the next country." 

XI. 

St. John had a hobby, 

'Twas cold water drinks 

Without any toddy ; 

But in the shake of two winks 

He betray'd us by G-dy, 

Declaiming so fine 

Against sea foam 

Turn'd into wine : 

To be used nowhere 

Save in the cellar at home ; 

Thus baiting the snare 

With a democratic bone, 

Which the war dogs had spurn'd 

From the foot of the throne. 

XII. 

The sage and the saint, 
The sinless attaint, 



HOBBIES. 157 



Dr. Bircliard's alliteration 
And high peroration, 
" Rum, romanism, and rebellion;" 
Injured the nation 
More than the rascallion 
Who sought in the sky. 
The just judgment of God to defy. 
He made with his hobby 
More mischief than Bobby, 
Who shoots off his tongue 
For nothing but fun ; 
About the big fish 
And the measureless dish 
Of manna that fell 
In the far away dell : 
(When Canaan rose on the view) 
For the fortunate few ! 
AYho kept their pots and pans, 
While crossing the Jordan, 
Pursued by Pharaoh's bands. 

xin. 
What is your hobby, lady fair? 
Pray tell me if you dare ; 
"My hobby is, sir, if you please, 
And always has been. 
Just to take my ease. 
My little jDOodle dog, Ben, 
I love to tease ; 
For he wiggles his tail 
Like a cute little snail 
And kisses me so kind. 
That, in truth, sir, I find 
More pleasure in this 
Than being- called 



158 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

Duck, darling, or Miss : 
By a romp that can n't read, 
But will gorge in liis greed. 
Ginger bread, julep, and jowl. 
Tobacco, sweet turnips, and fowl, 
Buttermilk, bacon, and beans, 
And will fly into smithereens. 
Should you want a calico gown. 
To take in the town. 
With waist, skirt, and sleeves 
For wearing and airing 
On sweet Sabbath eves." 



XIV. 

And there 's the circus, you see, 

Has become a great hobby ; 

With its elephants, crocodiles. 

Cannibals, condors, and coons ; 

Its camels, and leopards, hyenas, and all ; 

Ring riders, race chasers, 

Both little and tall ; 

While a man at the door 

With a voice of lustical lore 

Cries : ' ' The grandest on earth ! 

Walk right into the show ; 

But do n't forget your half dollar — 

And dime for the concert you know ; 

For we must have something to swallow, 

And that's what makes it go." 

And the dames and the dads 

Will pinch without tea. 

Just to take the small tads 

To the circus, do n't you see ? 



HOBBIES. 159 

XV. 

It was the hobby of his life, 

To win sweet Maggie for a >vife, 

And little children half a score. 

But now they 're his to feed and bless 

Since he found his happiness. 

He skips and leaves his wife, 

Right in the center of a mess 

With some darling Bess, 

And its safe to bet your life 

That nine times out of ten 

He dives right into more distress. 



XVI. 

As two lovers neat 

Went walking down the street, 

A glowing sign they chanced to meet : 
" I scream, I scream, " said she ; 
" Do n't, " said he, " do n't be afraid, 

I'U protect thee, little maid." 
" I scream, I scream," said she, 
" Can't you see Joe Wayth?" 
"Naught shall harm," he saith, 
" Thou'lt raise the people 

And ring the bells within the steeple 

As sure as death." 
"I scream, I'm going mad, 

I want I scream so bad." 

As this she said 

He shook with fear 

While on a sign quite near, 

These words he read : 
" Ice cream can here be had ! " 



160 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

XVII. 

When bracing up he said ? 
" My darling little maid, 

I accidentally laid 

My pocket book 

On the piano shelf." 
' ' Get out, you lazy lout ! 

Do you think I 've just come out 

From nnder my papa's surtout ? 

If no money you have 

Find another elf 

Some better than yourself, 

Who has a little wealth ; 

For ginger bread and jams 

Can't be bought with empty alms ; 

Besides I dote on I scream, 

As much as on a nightly walk 

For a friendly talk 

'Neath the soft moon beam." 

xvni. 

So saying she left him there 

With his mind quite full of care, 

And driven to extremes ; 

For gold that gleams 

He took a life 

With the assassin's knife ; 

And at one dangling bound 

From the hangman's rope 

The other country found : 

Just because her ' ' scream " 

Sounded in the silence of his dream, 

As a sort of sulphate 

In that stage 



HOBBIES. 161 

Where disappointed lovers wait 
To nurse their rage. 

XIX, 

"Thanks, stranger, I will not ride, 
I 'd sooner hoof it by your side. 
No hobby horse for me ; 
I have my millions, do n 't you see ? 
I'll trudge along in time 
To save another dime. 

XX. 

" O no ! my legs won't fail, 
I 'm hearty, stout, and hale ; 
Something over fifty, it is true, 
But then I feel as young as you. 
Whose rising sun breaks into view. 
And sparkles brightly on the dew : 
Over the hill tops of life 
Where care and strife 
Goes rangling the busy world around ; 
For the dime and dollar and pound, 
Whose jingling and tingling 
Ever tease the business nerve 
From pleasure's paths to swerve." 

XXI. 

Thus, like mill horses, we 

More than like the Deity, 

Work in the harness well, 

Raking up the shining dust ; 

Toiling on because we must 
. To guard the gathered pile. 

From thieves and wretches vile 
(U) 



162 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

Who linger around full near 
To scatter our earnings here, 
With unholy hands 
And riotous living 
In other lands. 



xxn. 

The mud throwing hobby 

Is practiced by the bad boy, Bobby, 

Who does quite a job 

At each wink and nod 

As he smears his victim 

With another gob , 

From the bottom of the pond ; 

Nailing some sister fond 

Forever to the cross 

With Beecher, Jones, or Morse : 

Dear parsons in their line 

Mailed round about 

In celestial pauojjly divine, 

Glowing and flashing out 

Like the radiance of a golden shrine 

Till the bad boy dims its shine, 

With the mud he flings 

And the slang he slings 

Merely for pastime. 

XXIII. 

The doctor gives his pills 

To all patients. 

For all ailments and all ills ; 

Some he cures, 

And some he kills ; 

And some who die 



HOBBIES. 163 



Of fever and of chills, 

He attributes to the perversity 

Of human wills. 



XXIV. 

And those whose constitution 

Outlives all ailments, 

And all ills, 

He attributes to the virtue 

Of his pills ; 

For he 'd bet his life 

And his chance of Paradise 

On the properties of his pills. 

XXV. 

And when the patient 's nearly well, 

He gives a dose of calomel. 

As a tonic to restore 

The normal condition once more. 

But when aught is matter of himself 

He never takes it from the shelf; 

Because good old claret wine 

Is much the best. 

For the stomach and the spine 

Should he feel distressed. 



XXVI. 

Some people dote on music. 

As did St. Busick, 

When the enraptured soiil 

In a reverie divine, 

Doth thro' heavenly vistas stroll 

With Kitty, Kate, or Caroline ; 



164 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

Warbling strains sublime 

In a celestial sort of pantomime. 

XXVII. 

They sing by twos and twos, 

They sing in the pews ; 

And sing when peoj^le ought to snooze ; 

Of birds, and dells, and dews : 

Of celestial bells 

And the gifted muse : 

Of golden streets 

Skirting silvery sand. 

Where the tide of duration meets 

From every land. 

Of fogs and croaking frogs ; 

Of drowsy demagogues. 

And of barefooted clod hoppers 

Just in from the bogs. 

xxvin. 
The dandy dude 
Just out of the bandbox, 
In his night hood 
Lisping, laughingly tells 
Of banks, bonds, and stocks ; 
Twirling his cane 
With a look of disdain, 
As he waltzes along 
Down the side of the street 
With spindle legs, poodle dog. 
Eye-glass atid all ; 
Slim, slender, and tall. 
Quite exquisite. 



HOBBIES. XQ5 

XXIX. 

The boys have theu' hobby, 
No matter whether 
It be Bill, Ben, or Bobby, 
Or whatfc'er the weather : 
They would be men of ease 
With stomachs lined with steel ; 
With time to eat all they please 
And no inconvenience feel. 

XXX. 

They'd "eat up, eat up, eat up, 

Ev'ry thing they see. 

Eat up, eat up, eat up. 

The world if it could be ;" 

With all the fragments that were saved 

From the great festivity. 

When somebody gave his daughter in nuptiality 

Keceived with the Saviour's sanction 

Of solemnity. 

XXXI. 

The girls have their hobby 
Outside of wearing curls, 
And attachments shoddy, 
" that we 
Some two or three 
Nice sticks of candy had, 
If twenty miles long 
They chanced to be 
We 'd not feel bad. 
We'd eat 'em, eat 'em, eat 'em, 
Throughout the blessed day. 
We 'd eat 'em, eat 'em, eat 'em 



1G6 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

Till all would melt away ; 
And then we 'd long for more 
Until our very hearts were sore, 
As well as some 
Nice bits of gum, 
And chewing, chewing, chewing, 
We'd be mum, mum, mum, 
Until our fellows they would come. 
And then, and then, and then, 
For lots of fun, fun, fun." 



XXXII. 

The sentimental poet strays 

Wandering here and there. 

Thro' nature's mystic maze ; 

With a sort of fantastical. 

Lackadaisical air. 

Prating of birds and blossoms rare, 

Of sparkling eyes 

And golden hair, 

Of soulfelt sighs 

Afloating in the skies 

Up to the gates of Paradise, 

Imploring St. Peter, 

With a rap and a repeater, 

To ope the golden gate 

When 't is decreed by fate ; 

That no form of sin 

Shall ever enter in 

With bluster or with din. 

Past the immortal barrier. 

Into the realms of Eden fair 

Where Gods and angels are. 



HOBBIES. - 167 

XXXIII. 

The weaver has his loom, 

The undertaker 

And coffin maker 

Have their tomb : 

The chimney sweep his broom : 

The barber has his soap, 

The hangman has his rope ; 

While amid the city's din 

The peddler peddles out his tin. 

The priest gets us out of trouble 

While the lawyer gets us in : 

The rummy drinks his slop, 

The saloon keeper his gin ; 

But I must stop 

For these lines are getting thin. 

XXXIV. 

Thus in one continual round 
There 's no end to the sound 
Our hobby horses make, 
Whether sleeping or awake; 
Racing and chasing o'er the ground 
Till Death puts on the brake, 
And we're laid beneath the ground. 

XXXV. 

Yes, at last 

We stand aghast. 

When Death bars the way 

On the hobby horse 

He has ridden 

Ever since Adam's day. 

Then a chill 



168 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

Settles round us still, 
As we feel the mists of eternity's rill 
Rolling on, rolling on. 
Out of darkness into dawn ; 
Beyond the never ending- 
Morrow morn 
Where new hopes and aims are born- 



'^ LIBERTY EI:^ LIGHTENING THE WORLD." 169 



"LIBERTY EI^LIGHTENma THE WORLD." 

I. 
Thou pedestal of grandeur, 

Thou monument of fame ; 
We hail thy coming to Liberty's laud 

In the King Eternal's name. 
We would greet thy sculptor too 

With gracious heart and beaming eye, 
Born to live forever — 

The great M. Bartholdi. 

n. 

With the torch of freedom in thy hand, 

Cheering beams break over the world 
With Liberty's beautiful emblem 

To the breeze of heaven unfurled. 
Free as the morning light 

Thou dost stand, majestic, and sublime. 
With thy wonderful image engraven 

On the scroll of historic time ; 

in. 

Spreading intelligence wide, 

Over movmtain, valley, plain. 
Like herald heavenly born 

In the God of freedom's name. 
Thy feet are moist with the flow 

Of crystal mists that rise : 

Thy head is bathed in an atmosphere 

Of fair and ambient skies. 
(15) 



170 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

rv. 

On Bedloe's Island 

As an emblem divine, 
Thou art placed to stand 

Thro' all coming time, 
As Liberty personified : 

Kesplendent amid the glow 
Of bright and holy light 

Shed on favor'd mortals below. 

V. 

In France and Grermany too 

Thy soul reviving beams. 
Gild the hills and mountains 

With enlightening gleams. 
And the fair horizon of hope 

Puts on a grander hue, 
From the cold and sterile north 

To the torrid plains of Peru. 

VI. 

Hail, thou image, hail, » 

Conception sublime. 
Conceived by a God-like mind ; 

Whose artistic touch divine 
And more than mortal eye, 

Hath from earthly metals called 
A seeming, breathing, wondrous, 

Holy, heavenly mold. 

vn. 

We bid thee, hail, 

For in what fitter land 
Upon this sphere, could thou 



■ LIBER TV ENLIGHTENING THE WORLD.' 171 

Be placed to stand; 
With thy torch of light 

Above the cradle of Liberty, 
First rocked by Puritan hands 

Whose parentage was over the sea? 

VIIT. 

Ye enslaved sons of earth, 

Cast your eyes 
To the breaking light 

Of Liberty's skies ; 
•Destined soon 

To fill the world 
With superstition and bondage 

Over the bounds of creation hurled. 

IX, 

Hail, thou image in repose, 

Hail," thou angel of light, 
Sixty million freemen 

With heart and voice unite 
To send their cheer 

Over the billow's foam, 
To thy peerless sculptor. 

And his palatial home. 

X. 

A more enduring work, 

A more lasting line 
History at her task 

Hath never writ with pen divine : 
While beyond the crystal bars, 

The recording angel of the sky, 
Hath made meet entry of thy mission, 

And thy master sculptor, M. Bartholdi. 



172 CAMPBELLS FOEMS. 



LADY LEOLINE. 

I. 

Sweet lady, Leoliue, 

Play me from thy guitar 
Some strain divine, 

Some soul soothing sentiment, 
While I look into your dreamy eyes, 
Beholding the light of Paradise, 

In love's listless contentment. 



n. 
Fair lady, Leoline, 

What is the wild passion 
Moving this heart of mine — 

Moving my being all 
With a deep yearning 
And a quenchless burning, 

Which I fathom not at all? 



in. 

Lovely lady, Leoline, 

With softest touch, 
Sound the cord sublime, 

Which you played 
In the Italian land, 
When Cupid's band 

Love's meshes round me laid. 



LADY LEO LINE. 

IV. 
Gentle lady, LeoHue, 

This spreading larch is shady, 
The maple and the pine ; 

And beyond the distant blue 
Glimmers bright 
AVith holy light 

Those garlands which love's angels strew. 

V. 

My lady, Leoline, 

What heaven can be 
More god-like or divine, 

Than the flowery beds of earth, 
Where love's roses 
And its posies 

Bloom with endless bu'th ? 



VI. 

Dear lady, Leoline, 

Sing the words you sang 

By the river Rhine, 

When we sat upon the beach, 

And the timbrel's tune 

Went shimmering with the moon. 
In a kind of celestial speech. 

vn. 

Kind lady, Leoline, 

Pledge me now, 
'Neath this jDurj^le vine, 

Our promise to renew 



173 



174 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

Just one holy kiss 
Of heavenly bliss, 

As the angels stand in view. 

vm. 

For lady, Leoline, 

The love's of earth 
Are but the birth divine, 

And gateway leading through 
The angel lands, 
Where celestial bands 

Pledge their love anew. 



BABl'LAND. 175 



BABYLAND. 

Just over the golden strand 

Lies baby land, 

Within the realm of day, 

And angels wandering 

Hand in hand, 

Sometimes lead those babes away. 

Thro' the by-ways of babyland 

Flow shining wavelets on every hand ; 

Too many to number, 

Soothing to slumber, 

They go rippling and trickling 

Over the silvery sand. 

While angels are keeping 

Watch over the sleeping 

Babies of babyland. 

Who tired of play have run away, 

And hid 'neath the roses, 

And nods, and naps, and dozes. 

Do they fly over mountains 
Or wade thro' fountains. 
Or how do they come and go ? 
Angels must guide them away, 
Or some Fairy with magic wand 
From the borders of babyland. 



176 GAMP BEL us POEMS. 

Beneath mosses and ferns 

They find the nnfledged starlings 

And dear little darlings, 

For whom a mother yearns ; 

And they lead them with softest hand 

From the shores of babyland. 

They crawl and they creep, 

They laugh and they weep. 

As they touch this earthly strand ; 

While the mother she blesses 

And fondly caresses 

The babies from babyland. 

In a curious way 
We may not understand 
That bright little band; 
Walks away waddling 
And talks away toddling 
From the shores of babyland. 

From the borders of babyland 
Led by an angel's hand, 
Thro' mazy windings 
And pathless findings 
Wend the little fondlings 
Earthward to our strand. 

Here to bud and bloom, 

Like faii'est flower of June, 

With golden hau- 

And features rare. 

Under a loving mother's care 

At midnight and at noon. 



BAB VL AND. 177 

Hither tliey come 

With their prattle and fun. 

Thither they go 

Leaving our homes full of woe, 

Winging away in December and May 

Into the sun-land's celestial glow. 

Just over the golden strand 

Lies babyland 

Within the realm of day ; . 

And angels wandering 

Hand in hand, 

Sometimes lead those babes away. 



178 CAMPBELL'S FOEMS. 



AN ANGEL'S TOUCH. 

Amid New Hampshire's liills, 

One evening long ago, 
Facing the wind that chills, 

Went a maiden in the snow. 
On a mission of mercy bent 

To buy three pennies' worth of tea. 
Into a saloon's grocery she went 

For her mother, sick, and in misery. 

"How is your ma, my little Miss?" 

Kindly said the clerk to her. 
" she's full of wretchedness. 

From her bed she can not stir ; 
Nothing has she eaten all day long, 

Dear mamma is suffering so, 
I tried to cheer her with my song. 
But life is ebbing low." 

With her back against a barrel, 

Down she sat and tried to pray ; 
She could hear the men curse and quarrel 

Till in slumber she drifted away. 
And dream'd such a happy dream ; 

She saw beautiful angels 
By the light of a brilliant gleam 

Go tripping thro' flowery dells. 

When staggering there came to the bar 
One who asked her name, saying, " Ho, ye 



AN ANGEL'S TOUCH. 179 

Drunkards, we 've been draining the whisky jar, 

Wiiile her mother is dying for tea 
Here's five, says I've some feeling left." 
" Here s three," said another, " and two," 
Said one with looks bereft : 
"Her father died wearing the blue." 

A ten dollar purse was quickly made 

By that rough drunken band, 
And some tender words said 

As round they gathered with gentlest hand 
And laid the money between her fingers, 

Saying, " Softly, she's dreaming, 
While a tear on her cheek lingers, 

And a smile covers her face beaming." 

The clerk gently wakened her then 

She said, with face flushing o'er, 
'I've had such a beautiful dream. 

Dear mamma is n't sick any more, 
And we 've plenty to eat and wear — 

O ! I feel so happy somehow ; 
My finger burns right there 

Where the angel touched it just now." 

A dollar filled her basket with meat, 

And she said, " Mamma wont believe 
Angels come to your store from the golden street, 

But my finger burns, it 's no deceive." 
She tripped gayly away, 

The men looked kindly after her. 
As the wind with her tresses did play, 

Their eyes with tears did blur. 

Kind reader, we may not see 
All the angels that come 



180 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

From the, depths of infinity, 

Moving the soul cursed with rum 

To tenderest acts of kindness, 
On this shaded shoal of time, 

As we go marching in our blindness 
To God's bright golden clime. 



^'PLEASE, PAPA, STAY AT HOME TO-NIGHT^ 181 



"PLEASE, PAPA, STAY AT HOME TO-NIGHT." 

"Please, papa, stay at home to-night. 

The rain beats on the window pane, 
The road 's in such a j)light ; 

And when mamma died, you know 
You promised in a prayer. 

With accents soft and low, 
That henceforth you would beware, 

And never to the rum shop go. 

** Come, dear papa, stay with me, 

'T is all I ask, a simple task, 
O! can't it be? 

The wine may sparkle red, 
Your friends may wait for you, 

But remember what you said 
When mamma bid a last adieu 

And the preacher from the Bible read. 

"About the room blest forms of light 

I seem to see, arrayed most beauteously, 
With crowns all fair and bright, 

Beckoning unto me ; 
And if you go, papa. 

When you come home 
I may be gone. 

For thro' the storm I see the breaking dawn. 

*'And I hear sweet voices singing, 

Beside the open door, of joy forever more ; 



182 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

Songs of a heavenly land, 

Where papas shall go out no more 

To join the drunkard's band. 

A dreadful pain goes flashing thro' my brain, 

Like the rattling rain on the window pane — 
Come, dear papa, close the door. 

" My papa's left me here alone. 

Gone out of sight into the night, 
Thro' the wind's wild moan. 

But hark ! let my spirit listen 
To that sweet undertone ; 

Wafted through the sky. 
From harp strings that glisten 

So lightly sweeping by. 

"Thro' the wicked wine cup, 

I must be right, papa 's lost his reason quite, 
Or he would n't have gone to sup 

And left me alone to-night. 
There was something good in him 

Before he met those men 
And drank their gin. 

But, alas! he's heartless now as them." 

The drunkard staggered home next day 
To see his child as last ; she smiled 

In death's shroud where she lay, 
With her spirit flown away ; 

While round her head. 
In letters of living light, 

These words he read : 
" Please, papa, stay at home to-night." 



THE CRIMSON SCROLL. 183 



THE CKIMSON SCROLL. 



NOTE. 

[The incident herein related is but the recounting of one of the 
thrilling scenes of the late war. Many a "Nellie " waited for a step's 
returning that never came; to droop and fade like a flower at the door 
of the tomb, when some remembered trophy of the battle-field was 
presented, stained in the cruel strife.— C] 



Soon after the Shiloli fight 

Went two officers of the line 
Among the dying and dead at night, 

Beneath the soft moonshine. 

They wended on with heavy, hearts, 

Those ghastly forms to see ; 
Where death and life forever parts 

Their strange, mysterious company. 

Beneath the peach tree's reddening leaves, 
Where Death's rich harvest lay, 

Past those fair and ripening sheaves, 
They mournful took their way 

When a face of beauty met their eyes, 

Rigid in death's repose. 
Whose freed spirit in the skies 

Earth's anguish no longer knows. 

Within his lifeless hand 
A scroll of white was seen, 



184 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

Which quite unmanned 

Those men of warlike mien. 

Crimsoned with the tide 

From his heart's blood flowing, 
He read the missive from his bride, 

Which was anguish past our knowing. 

And in his dying hold 

He retained the crimson scroll, 
Tho' his bosom had grown cold, 

And gone was the immortal soul. 

The last words, fair and clear, 
Of that blood-stained letter, 
Still linger in my ear : 
"Charlie, when you come home, I will be better." 

Alas ! for the drooping maiden ; 

Alas ! for fondest hope — 
Thereafter young Charlie Hayden 

To his Nellie never spoke. 

They buried him with kindly care 

As best they could, 
Uttering a broken prayer. 

Their bosoms were subdued. 

The crimson scroll they took away, 
With heavy hearts and weary feet ; 

For 't was past the breaking day 

Ere from Shiloh's slain they did retreat. 

The missive came to his Nelly's hand ; 
Ah ! better had it never come ; 



THE CRIMSON SCROLL. 185 

The shock she could not withstand, 
Its crimson struck her dumb. 

But somewhere amid the ether bright, 

In reahns beyond our knowing, 
Their freed spirits may unite, 

As eternity is onward going. 
(16) 



186 CAMPBELUS POEMS. 



BEGGETG". 



PAET FIEST. 



Away in the busy city, 

Amid the dust and the din of its streets, 
Wanders an object of pity, 

Begging for the bread that she eats. 

n. 

'T is a woman, feeble and old. 

Whose tottering step and trembling hand, 
Is known to the teamsters on the wold, 

And the fishermen on the strand. 

in. 

Clad in poverty's robes, 

Her shadow casts a shade, 
Along the dusty roads, 

And by the wayside glade. 

IV. 

A penny is all she asks : 
" For the love of God, give it me ; " 
But hypocrites, in sacred masks, 
Pass her by in mockery. 

V. 

They sit in gilded pews 
The word of God to hear, 



BEGGING. 187 

With silken laced shoes, 
And fix-ups, grand and queer ; 

VI. 

While barefoot the beggar goes 

Over the hard and flinty street, 
Thro' blinding frost and snows, 

Begging for bread to eat. 

vn. 

Religion in the church of God, 

And religion out of doors, 
Has a different lord 

Whom humanity adores. 

vin. 

God help the begging poor, 

As they pass amid the heartless throng, 
Begging from door to door. 

In the night-time and the dawn. 



Many a cold rebuff 

And harshly cruel word, 
From some priuked-up puff, 

Their ears hath often heard. 



But in every restless wave 

Of humanity sweeping on 
To the dark, cold grave, 

Some heart heeds the beggar's song, 

XI. 

And gives of its scant supply 
With a kind and cheery word, 



188 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

Which bright celestials of the sky 
For ao-es lono- hath heard. 



xn. 
Ye poor unfortunate ones, 

Have courage yet a little while ; 
For the light of Eden dawns 

Beyond this selfish isle. 

xm. 

Where never weary feet, 

Neglected and unshod. 
Shall go begging on the street 

From the mansion-house of God. 



PART SECOND. 



I. 

Begging on the street. 
Begging for bread to eat ; 

Ever begging on 

Daily gathering from the throng, 
More bitterness than sweet. 

n. 

Begging out of doors, 

Begging when the tempest pours ; 
Jostled by the throng. 
Urged to "move along," 

By pompous pleasure goers. 



BEGGING. 189 



nr. 

Begging by the wayside, 
Where the lordly rich doth ride 

In splendid equipage ; 

Attended by troop and page. 
In all the pomp of pride. 

IV. 

Begging where no word 
From the beggar's lip is heard, 
By hearts encased in steel, 
Which no sensations feel 
That pity ever stirred. 



Begging thro' the day, 
Begging thro' the night away, 

Where ever their windings 

And pathless findings 
Chance to stray. 

VI 

Begging, staff in hand, 
Laughed at through the land 
By those whom fortune gave 
More of the rascal and the knave, 
Than brains to understand. 

vn. 

Begging from door to door, 
'T is but a scanty store 

The beggar reaps. 

From those glittering heaps 
That Charon never ferries o'er 



190 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

VIII. 
The dismal river, 
Where hearts doth shiver. 

Whether shiuuiug gold 

Or rags doth fold 
The beggar or the giver. 

IX. 

'T is best that we give away 
Part of the hoardings of to-day | 

And thus fill with cheer 

Homes more near 
Than we dream of on our way. 

X. 

For over in the light, 
If we do what is right, 
We '11 greet beggars there, 
Robed like the shining fair, 
With crowns as bright 

XI. 

As any that 's borne, 

Or heavenly worn, 
In the land of bliss, 
Where naught amiss 

For poverty doth mourn. 



THE FISHERMAN'S DAUGHTER. 191 



THE nSHEEMAN'S DAUGHTER. 

I. 
Down by the winding river, 
Where the reeds and rushes shiver. 
Stands a fisherman's hut, 
Begrimed with smoke and soot ; 
Lonely and dismal to see. 
Dreary as dreary can be ; 
More like a hermitage den 
Than the abode of civilized men. 

n. 
In that lone cabin small 
Dwells a maiden tall, 
As fair and free 
As any you 'd see 
In a day's journey round 
Long Island Sound ; 
And she keepeth good cheer 
For the fisherman. 
When the night draweth near. 

III. 

The father and child 
Are used to storm, 
To the wind and the rain, 
And the weather so warm : 
Her slender hand may guide 
The rocking boat 
On the billoAvy tide. 
More safely through 



192 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

The angry foam, 

When the moon 's in view, 

To that island home, 

Than many a stronger hand, 

Or leader of outlaw'd band, 

Who bringeth no good cheer 

To the hearthstone 

When the night draweth near. 

IV. 

This maiden might 

Be a water sprite, 

Or ray of the northern light j 

Her form so fair, 

You 'd surely say 

Some angel had been there 

At her bringing into day. 

V. 

For miles around 

The country far. 

From Long Island Sound, 

Shines this risen star ; 

Lighting up the darkest den, 

Where shadows flit, 

Or goblins skip, 

Thro' the haunts of men. 

VI. 

Once I saw 

This child of beauty 

And of law ; 

When the wild unrest of nature 

Filled my soul with awe. 

Like genii of the storm 



THE FISHERMAN'S DA UGHTER. ig( 

Guiding a fragUe bark, 
Where whii'lpools form, 
Amid the hungry dark 
And lightning's vivid gleam, 
Safely to the strand, 
Like iVaiad Queen 
Of the fairy land. 

vn. 
Her dark brown eye, 

And ringlets flow 
Over a breast of snow, 
Made her seem 
Some heavenly queen 
Or angel of the sky. 

viir. 
Down by the river, there 
Dwells this maiden rare. 
Thro' the Summer's noon 
And leafy June ; 
When the hUls of God, 
Tipped with amber rod. 
Are with birds attune ; 
Cheering with her smile 
That rude hut 
Of brick and tile, 
While her blest spirit's shine, 
Scarce less than divine. 
On pilgrimage doth roam, 
Lingering near 
Those golden gates ajar, 
In the bright atmosphere, 
To be welcom'd in 
Where the holy angels are, 
Safe from death and sin. 

(17; 



194 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 



SOLD FOK GOLD. 

A WIGHT of old, 

As I 've been told, 

Sold his wife for gold ; 

Gold to clink, 

And gold to chink ; 

For he would have drink 

To allay the pain 

Within his brain. 

Caused by thirst's fell scorpion train. 

The money paid, 

And in his pocket laid, 

He cross'd himself and prayed, 

Prayed in fear. 

For a statue standing near 

Grinned with malicious leer, 

While a ready hand. 

With lifted brand, 

Seemed raised to strike him from the land. 

But companions came 

And spoke his name ; 

While tongues of flame, 

Flame not of earth 

Or mortal birth, 

Quite small of girth, 

Gleamed cold. 

As if he 'd sold 

His soul to the devil's fold. 



SOLD FOR GOLD. 195 

His money gone, 

One day at dawn, 

He wandered on, 

On over the clieerless hill, 

Sick with a dying chill, 

The sport of the wind's will ; 

While amid the elemental strife, 

He heard the injured cry of his wife 

Ringing through his life — 

Ringing through his soul, 
Like the death-knell's toll, 
Pealed out of eternity's goal — 
Goal of gloom 
'Round each mortal tomb, 
This side the never-ending noon. 
So dismal, dark, and dread 
To a soul with poison dead, 
Drunk out of a wife's blood red. 

Amid the cutting air 

He saw a shadow there. 

With cloven foot and forehead bare — 

Bare as his pockets then. 

With hearse and horses ten, 

Prancing adown the glen, 

While the crippled sprite 

Flashed in his face a light, 

Saying, " You are the devil's, quite. 

' Come to our mart, 
For you have n't any heart, 
A wife so rudely to part : 
Part without a tear. 
While the rum rowdies near 



196 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

Urged you on with drunken cheer : 
We '11 feed you fire instead of rum, 
For we still have some." 

The frost and sleet 
Was his winding sheet, 
While the coursers fleet, 
Fleet as ever sped 
With the coffin'd dead, 
Heard never a word he said ; 
But bore him away 
As he went gasping out of day 
Into the realm of Pluto's sway. 



THE FATES AND THE FAIRIES. I97 



THE FATES AND THE FAHIIES. 

In the early dawn 

A little fairy, 

Light and airy, 
Came tripping o'er the lawn. 

Upon her garb of green 
And robes of shining gold, 
Embroidered in beauty's mold, 

I read, " The May-day Queen." 

Her face was very sweet. 
Her form was very fair. 
In wavy ringlets hung her hair, 

And thus she did me greet : 

"Haste, ! haste thee now, 
Pluck life's roses 
' And its posies. 
Ere Time shades thy brow." 

Quick I looked around. 
When vanishing fast 
As a breath that's past, 

I heard her fleeting sound. 

And amid the mid-day's prime 
I saw the gathering fates. 
Where Life, laughing, waits 

To unriddle the universal rhyme. 



198 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

All the air was still, 

No soundiug drum, 

Or insect's hum. 
Floated 'round the hill, 

Till one more bold 
Than all the band, 
With uplifted hand. 

Thus began to scold : 

" Immortal forms divine, 

Why stand ye waiting here ? 
Escape yon horrid monster near 
While yet there may be time." 

And when the evening fell 

There came, agape 

A shade, a shape, 
A form of hell, 

Whose hideous stride 
And awkward gait, 
A commotion did create 

Of universal terror wide. . 

O ! list, ye little men : 
The very grass did die ; 
The sunbeam in the sky 

Turned to darkness then, 

As this shade of grizzly shape, 
With voice that sounded null, 
Like the lifeless human skull. 

In deep, mysterious tones spake : 



IHE FATES ASD THE DAIRIES. 199 

" Ye mortals, come, 'tis my command; 
Come, your time hath fled ; 
Come, dauce with the merry dead, 
A mystic waltz 'round creation's strand." 



200 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



THE RHYME OF THE RAMBLER. 

I 'vE been to Cairo and Cape Cod, 

To the Devil's Rock, 
And the " Garden of God," 

About which the people talk. 

I 've sailed upon the waves 

When the tempest howled, 
And looked into dead men's graves 

When the face of heaven scowled. 

I left the folks at home, 

While yet in my teens, 
And went to ancient Rome 

To see the sights and scenes. 

I've sailed upon the Nile 

In fancy's fairy boat. 
Bewitched with cupid's smile 

And the bulbul's softest note. 

I 've heard the sailor's ' ' ahoy " 

When leaving port. 
And felt the balm of grief's alloy 

In a regal Spanish court. 

I've stood upon the deck 

Amid nature's awful wail, 
When the vessel went a wreck, 

Before the angry gale. 



THE RHYME OF THE RAMBLER. 201 

I 've swam to land, 

When wreck'd far off coast 
Many leagues from Hindoostan, 

But of this I do not boast. 

For it was swim or die ; 

No packet line was near, 
And the angels of the sky 

Were busy in the upper sphere. 

So there I swam alone 

Among the sharks and fishes, 
With the dismal ocean's moan 

Disturbing all my wishes. 

I 've seen angelic eyes 

In the deep of the ether clear, 
And heard the devil's cries 

Sounding very near. 

This you may deny. 

But on the word of man. 
So help me God, I die. 

If I have n't from the devil ran. 

I've stood upon the peak 

Of ancient Pike, 
And heard the wizard shriek — 

They called " Old Crazy Ike." 

Offctimes I 've hailed 

The City of the Lake, 
Where old Brigham sailed 

With nineteen in his wake. 



202 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

I Ve seen Old England's queen, 
And heard the princess sing 

To a fellow rather green, 

Sheltered 'neath the royal wing. 

The earl of Prussia too, 
And have spent some time 

With the Governor of Peru, 
Sipping purple wine. 

I 've climbed the Andes high, 
Whose snow-clad summits gleam, 

Where mighty condors fly 
In the light of heaven's beam. 

I've seen the land of Tell, 
Where many manly sons 

For truth and liberty fell 

'Neath the tyrant Gessler's guns. 

I've seen the Sultan of Turkey, 

With his badges and banners bright, 

And the heir apparent of Sheba 

Accout'red like a brave, true knight. 

I've seen the Cuban isle, 

With its bloom and fragrance fine, 

And Corsica and Carlisle 

Have greeted these ears of mine. 

I've sailed the Caribbean sea, 
And scaled the Himalayas high. 

Tracing the foot-prints of the Deity 
Over their summits, into the sky. 



THE RHYME OF THE RAMBLER. 203 

I 've rounded Cape Horn 

On the South Atlantic wave, 
Feeling quite forlorn 

Where many found a grave. 

I've touched Brazil, 

Contrary to aunt Lena, 
And father and mother's will, 

Thence to St. Helena ; 

The isle where Napoleon trod, 

An abandoned exile 
By all save God, 

Thro' perfidy and guile. 

I 've been to Bengal Bay, 

Beyond the Indian Ocean; 
And stopped at Madagascar on the way 

To ofier up devotion. 

I 've sailed fair and free, 

Near Beloochistan, 
On the Arabian Sea, 

Under Evlington's command. 

I 've been to the Red Sea 

In the month of June, 
And on the Dead Sea, 

Where no lilies bloom. 

I've seen Tripoli, Morocco, and Algiers, 
Where slaughter's red right hand 

Bathed the land in tears. 
Under some magic wand. 



204 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

I 've seen the Isles of Cape Verde 
When the skies were calm and mild ; 

There singing maidens I have heard 
Who looked on me and smiled. 

And to the Canaries too, 
Near the Tropic of Cancer, 

With a jovial crew, 
Sailing, I went, sir. 

I Ve been to the Land's End, 

Buried deep in fog. 
Where seldom ever wend 

The thoughtful pedagogue. 

Greenland, Iceland, and Baffin's Bay, 
Crested with crystal mists, 

I've met upon the way. 

Where comets twirls and twists. 

I've explored the Artie isles, 

Where huge fields of ice 
Arose in mountain piles, 

In my lifetime twice. 

I've been to Alaska, 

And the Lakhov isles ; 
Likewise to Kamtchatka, 

And the Sandwich tiles. 

I 've been to Liberia, 

And Cape Colony ; 
Thro' Africa's interior. 

Where man-eaters stray. 



THE RRFME OF THE RAMBLER. 20c 

I Ve been to the end of the rainbow, 
Australia and the Friendly Isles ; 

To iS'ew Guinea and Borneo, 
Where witches wend the wilds. 

I've been to the Yellow Sea, 

Many miles from home, 
And to the Tappan Zee, 

Roaming round alone. 

Thro' China and Japan, 

In quest of ancient lore ; 
And aint I quite a man 

From Bengal's distant shore? 

If I 'd teU you all I 've seen, 

Rambling up and down. 
You 'd say it was a dream, 

Or something in my crown. 

I 've seen the sun, 

And been to tea 
Where comets run, 

Beyond the wide, white sea. 

I 've laughed at danger, 

And had belles wait on me ; 
And quaffed with many a stranger 

In Dablin and Dundee. 

I've seen some sights 

Under the meredian sun, 
As well as goblins and sprites. 

When my life was young. - 



206 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

And many a lady fair 

I've parted with, 
She still lingering in despair, 

Waving her 'kerchief. 

I 've seen some heaven, 
And some I have n't seen, 

Dancing at eleven 

In the soft moonbeam ; 

With maid or matron fair, 
In love's delightful thrill, 

Where winds many a deceptive snare, 
Woven by the human will. 

Gentle reader, the world is wide, 
And this you may discern, 

By sailing on the tide 
Westward with the sun ; 

Or eastward along the line 
Of the sacred river Nile, 

Where monks, in manhood's prime, 
Are hid in some cathedral pile, 

Chanting solemnly their orisons 

Both night and morn ; 
With manners like the Morrisons, 

Who are so wondrous born. 

And as you journey round 
The sights will never end : 

This much I have found. 
My dear and gentle friend. 



THE RHYME OF THE RAMBLER. 207 

So I'll bring this rhyme 

To a stop and stand ; 
And leave each word and line 

Till I 've seen another land. 



208 CAMPBELL'S POEMS: 



GOODY GIBBS. 

Dreary blows the wind to-night 

Across the lonely lea ; 
But Goody Gibbs wanders in sight 

Thro' mists and misery. 

This witch, as I've been told, 

With a wizard's wand 
Gathers ghosts upon the wold 

When the storm 's abroad in the land. 

And from house to house 

They march, a fleshless cavalcade. 
Frightening the jDeople and ev'ry mouse 

With their wild and weird parade. 

Riding the horses till morn. 

In dire and desperate haste. 
Trampling down fields of corn. 

As if 't was theirs'^ to waste. 

Playing strange pranks, 

And wonderful feats. 
Along the sunny banks 

Where creek and river meets. 

Changing the foamy wave 

Into mist and spray. 
Or the shadow of a grave, 

Where murdered martyrs lay. 



GOODY GIBBS. 209 

Thus all night long, 

Thro' storm and drift, 
They go speeding on, 

Like poverty and thrift. 

Goody Gibbs, to all is known, 

With shriveled face and bony fingers, 

As the " haggard old crone," 

Always out when daylight lingers. 

I pray you let her be, 

And speak her fair ; 
For 't is said thro' some mystery 

She holds converse with shapes of air. 
(18) 



210 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 



WORDS OF WISDOM. 

Lips of wisdom 
May utter words of folly, 
But 't is counted wisdom still : 
One may accomplish wonders 
By the force of human will. 

Men may bankrupt be, 
Tho' their ledger of life 
We may not see ; 

And dauntless stand amid the strife . 
When they ought to flee. 
V 
While others, wedded to want and woe, 
Stumbling onward 
Thro' life go, 
Under darkling clouds. 
Amid rain, and hail, and snow. 

Some toil their lives away. 
With never a penny saved 
For a dull or rainy day, 
Tho' the wolf of hunger gaunt 
Stands snarling at the doorway. 

Life's philosophers can 

Prescribe a rule of conduct 

To mortal man, 

Tho' they ^themselves 

May not follow the chattered plan. 



WORDS OF WISDOM. 211 

Milton, in his time, 
Wrote, with the pen of an angel, 
Thoughts seraphic and sublime ; 
Tho' 't is said that even he 
Sometimes practiced infidelity. 

Byron worshij^ed at the door 

Of a convent maid. 

On a foreign shore, 

Tho' he left a loving wife, 

To think of her no more. 

Many a song that may be sung, 

Which joyful seems, 

Is ofttimes wrung 

From the wounded heart, 

Busy witli its dreams. 

Many an humble maid. 
By some brutish man 
Doomed to the pick and spade. 
With patience may be training 
Hope's tendrils on the everglade. 

While many a lady gay. 
Dressed in embroidery fine. 
Is hasting along the way 
Of the devil's pleasure-line. 
To miss the gates of day. 

Some ministers of God, 
With their unholy feet 
In silken sandals shod, 
Profane the mercy seat 
Under the Eternal's nod. 



212 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

'T is not the loudest praise 
That most contents the soul, 
In these wicked latter days,; 
For many boasting pharisees 
Miss the heavenly ways ; 

While poor publicans 
But meekly stand 
And simply say, 
" God, be merciful to me," 
Gain the gates of day. 

By the simple word of truth 

Let us be guided then, ♦ 

That when past the port of youth 

We may look back, 

Without regret or ruth. 

The night is closing round 
This sheltered spot of mine, 
And a silence all profound 
Comes down the ether line 
Like a silver shower of sound. 

So I '11 haste away 
To waiting kindred dear. 
And finish, some other day, 
What I Ve omitted here 
Of this simple lay. 



THE DRAYMAN. ^13 



THE DRAYMAN. 

The prattle of little children, 

The sound of many feet, 
Come bounding out of the school-room 

Into the busy street ; 

Where penury and labor toil 
Like the mill horse at his task ; 

Half clad, half fed, 

Like famine's fearful mask. 

Thro' summer's sultry heat. 
Thro' winter's freezing snows, 

The drayman to his labor 
In the early morning goes. 

Day in, day out. 

Toiling as the seasons come, 
For home and children. 

To earn an honest crumb. 

Little cheer, little comfort. 

No farm, no home, 
No foot of land, 

Doth the drayman own. 

In the humble walks of life, 

Down belows its cheer, 
The drayman faithful labors, 

Toiling thro' the year. 



214 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

But see the children cheer him, 
As they skip and play about 

In rings and giddy circles, 
For the prince of fun is out. 

He thinks of the distant days 
In the morning tide of life, 

Before care and trouble came, 
When he loved the lute and fife. 

When earth and heaven seemed 
Tinged with a light divine ; 

And the rills and rivulets 
Sparkled like a mine. 

When fancy's witching wand 

Beckoned on so free, 
Along the alluring lines of life, 

Where all should happy be. 

But those sunny days have gone, 
And the laughing children too : 

Necessity bids him work ; 
What else can he do ? 

Toil on, thou humble slave. 
For beyond your daily line, 

The land of promise lies. 

Sparkling with fountains all divine. 

And perchance, in the by and by, 
The humblest drayman may 
On the celestial play-ground, 
Again with the children play. 



A SOLDIER OF 1812. 215 



A SOLDIER OF 1812. 



NOTE. 

[JosiAH Cook.— In reply to an inquiry, the pension officer at Wash- 
ington sent the following facts to the Abilene Post, G. A. R., concern- 
ing the life and services of Josiah Cook, a soldier of the war of 1812: 

"In compliance with this request, you are informed that, in his ap- 
plication for a pension, he states, in March , 1S71, that he was seventy- 
three years of age, and then residing in Randolph, Cattaraugus 
County, N. Y., and that lie enlisted at the mouth of the Genesee river, 
near Brighton, in Ontario County, N. Y., ilay 1, 1S14, and served with 
Capt. Hope Davis, in Col. Dobbin's N. Y. Volunteer Regiment, in Gen. 
Porter's command, until June 30th, then in Capt. Harding's company, 
until honorably discharged Nov. 8. 1814, at Batavia, Genesee County, 
N. Y. 

"He was married February 11, 1822, at Rochester, N. Y'.jto Roselinda 
Newton. 

"There is no mention of his being in any battle, or other incidents of 
his service; nor was it required that he should do so to obtain his 
pension. 

"It maybe useful to you to learn that in Gardner's dictionary of the 
army, a semi-official publication, it is stated that ' Micayah Harding, 
of New York, Captain in Dobbin's regiment of N. Y. volunteers, under 
Gen. Porter, distinguished himself in Gen. Gaines' victory at Fort 
Erie, Aug. 13 to 15, 1S14. 

" ' Henry W. Dobbins, of New York, a Lieutenant-Colonel command- 
ing a regiment of New York volunteers, under Gen. Porter, was 
wounded in the battle of Niagara Falls, July 25, 1814; was appointed 
Colonel of a regiment.' 

" Under the name of Niagara Falls is included the conflict where 
Gen. Scott was so conspicuous in Lundy's Lane, in the town of Bridge- 
water. 

" It will be noted that the dates above are included in the period 
covered by service of Josiah Cook; but whether he was present in 
those battles is unknown. 

" The preamble and resolutions are filed with the pension papers of 
Mr. Cook. Very respectfully, 

JOHN C. BLACK, 

Commissioner." 

Josiah Cook died at the Poor Farm of Dickinson County, Kansas, 
in his eighty-eighth year, on the morning of the Grant memorial serv- 



216 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

ices, Augusts, 18S5, and was buried in "The Potter's Field," in the 
Abilene Cemetery, on the same day by three persons. 

His remains were taken up and reburied in the " Soldiers' Burial 
Ground," by the G. A. R. Post No. C3, in the same cemetery, on the 
evening of the 9th of August, just as the sun was setting, with appro- 
priate services, witnessed by a large concourse of people. It was or- 
dered by the Post, that " a magnificent monument be erected to his 
memory." Much was published in the papers of this occurrence.— C] 



A PAUPER dies in the poor house ! 

'T is nothing : many a pauper dies 
Under the world's bright skies, 

And sleeps without a coffin. 

Buried in " the Potter's field ! " 

'T is nothing : many a poor man 
To death must yield, 

And sleep in a rough wood coffin. 

A soldier of Eighteen Twelve ! 

'T is nothing worth the mention : 
One can 't expect an honored grave 

While overseers control the poor-house pension. 

Josiah Cook by name ! 

'T is nothing to us now, 
That Greneral Harrison of Fort Meigs fame 

Gave a laurel to his brow. 

This veteran fought with a noble band 
On Freedom's death contested fields ; 

Striking with true and steady hand, 
'Gainst British breast-plates and shields. 

And shall the dust of his mouldering bones 
Mingle with that of the knaves' 



A SOLDIER OF 1812. .217 

And desecrater of thrones ! 

Kather than mix with manlier graves ? 

Nay, nay. immortal warrior, nay, 

Thou shalt not thus slec p 
The dreamless sleep alway, 

While the G. A. R.'s a post of honor keep. 

Buried without their knowledge 

On Saturday, August Eight ; 
When the world paid its homage 

To Grant lying in state. 

'T was some one's terrible oversight 

That our post commander true, 
Was n't informed of the last sad rite, 

'Till the secret work was through. 

Yes, thou shalt have a burial 

Conducted with kindly care ; 
Clad in a shroud imperial, 

And coffined in richest ware. 

And a monument of spotless white 

Shall be erected to thy name. 
With wreathed inscriptions bright, 

Which shall perpetuate the soldier's fame. 
(19) 



218 CAMPBELL'S POEM 



ON THE OCEAN STRAND. 

I STOOD on the ocean strand, 
The last of an exiled band, 
Who had wandered far 
From the golden Orient, 
Pursuing ambition's star; 
Thinking thereby to see 
What each new mystery meant 
Under heaven's broad canopy. 

The sun rode high at noon, 

The lilies were in bloom, 

The restless ocean's spray, 

With its dismal moan, 

Made me think of those wTio lay 

Buried, without clod or screen, 

Many miles from kindred and from home. 

Beneath the salt sea green. 

The anger of the rising squall. 
The startled curlew's call, 
Mingling with nature's voice there, 
So musical and grand, 
Amid the sheet lightning's glare, 
Seemed the scroll of time unfurled. 
About me on the strand, 
Of the fore-appointed world. 

While thus I stood and gazed 
In mute bewilderment's amaze, 



ON THE OCEAN STRAND. 219 

I fancied that I saw, 

In the deep of the liquid blue, 

The hand of order and of law, 

Obedient to the Eternal will. 

Pass before my view, 

All this tumult to still. 

Lingering amid the darkness then, 
I thought of the moments when 
Ship-wrecked on the coast off Toona, 
The God of boundless love 
Saved me, amid the ocean's moan, 
From the hand of frightful death, 
The one survivor alone 
Of all who yielded up their breath. 

O ! who can stand 
On the ocean's strand, 
Nor trace the spirits line 
From this vale of death, 
Up to the ethereal clime above, 
Where the holy angels liveth, 
And the harbor lights doth shine 
Along the celestial lands of love ? 



220 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



WOMAN'S SPHERE. 

Some men pretend 

That woman's sphere. 
Created for an end, 

Is the kitchen here. 

That man was meant to be 

Master of creation — 
A kind of earthly deity 

Made for woman's admu'ation. 

She, the weaker, gentler kiad, 
Was simply made to bow, 

Obedient to his mind 

As an ox would work a plow. 

Not so, in woman's making : 
There is revealed a plan, 

Of more careful painstaking 
Than is attributed by man. 

Embracing a higher sphere. 
From the ills of life defended, 

Of all that 's ennobling here ; 
For this she was intended. 

Hail to thee, thou angel divine, 
By the hand of heaven blest, 

Of all this earthly line, 
The brio-htest and the best. 



WOMAN'S SPHERE. 221 

Thy sphere is the boundless universe, 

Thy reahn creation's meed, 
With a heart that may in rapture gush. 

Or at the claims of pity bleed 

Work on, thou faithful one, 

Tho' but few appreciate thy worth : 

There will come a golden dawn, 
Where reward awaits thy birth. 



222 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



MEMORIES OF OTHER DAYS. 

My boyhood home is vacant now, 
Where first I saw the light ; 

No familiar footstep falls 
Where I used to fly my kite. 

The lake where swam the geese, 
Holds still its silvery sheen 

Of alternate light and shade, 
From the leaves that intervene. 

But the feathered fowls are gone, 
That used to drink and lave. 

In such friendly seeming mood. 
Upon its clear and crystal wave. 

The barnyard wall has crumbled some, 
There is no living thing within ; 

All is peace and quiet now, 
Where once was such a din. 

The old oak tree is dead. 

Whose branches lodged the birds, 
And cooling shelter gave 

To the lazy, lowing herds. 

My Summer shaded green-house 
Has long been wasted by the wind, 

Where oft I used to play. 

And playing, sometimes sinned. 



MEMORIES OF OTHER DAYS. 223 

The rose leaf has faded now ; 

The dear old garden's bloom, 
Once so fair and fragrant, 

Seems like a neglected tomb. 

In truth, I hardly knew 

The dear old place to-day, 
Which seemed to me a heaven 

Ere I 'd been twenty years away. 

I sat me down amid the grove 

In pensive thought a while ; 
The wind came softly sighing 

Adown each leafy isle, 

Like the requiem of a funeral train, 
Moving with solemn pomp along. 

For my missing kindred kind. 
Who filled the grove with song, 

A distant sounding echo 

Seemed breaking on my ear. 
From falling clods upon each coffin, 

Who were to me so dear. 

Father and mother gone. 

And sister laid within the dust ; 
The old homestead left to me, 

By a title deed in trust. 

But, alas ! that I should till 

That burial ground again ! 
No, no, I can not do it, 

'T would break my heart with pain. 



224 ^ CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

Thro' all the weary days, 
Each sod that I might turn 

"Would make me mourn for loved ones, 
As memory back would run. 

The old homestead I will rent 
To some good, trusty hand ; 

And on pilgrimage go hence 

Journeying through a foreign land, 

Where never sight or scene 

Shall daily call to mind, 
Thoughts of the last long separation 

From loved ones good and kind. 

Waiting for the billows of life's ocean 
To speed my bark forever and for aye, 

To a realm beyond the harbor bar, 
Where meet again we must and may. 



LOV£^ WITHOUT. A KISS. 225 



LOVE WITHOUT A KISS. 

Love without a kiss, 

Is like the shadow of a bliss 

Floating round thro' nothingness. 

Love without a kiss, 

Is like a heaven compared to this, 

Without its blessedness. 

Love without a kiss, 

Is like a mother-in-law amiss 

In a home of wretchedness. 

Love without a kiss, 

Is like a jealous little Miss 

Full of fretful peevishness. 

Love without a kiss. 

So very sort of simple is, 

That it is n't biz — 

Then remember always this, 
When you love without a kiss, 
The most of love you miss. 



226. CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



WITH HEART-BEAT AND DRUM-BEAT." 

" With heart-beat and drum-beat, 
A soldier passe th by," 
Borne to his rest, 
In the nation of the blest, 
Under the blue of freedom's sky. 

"With heart-beat and drum-beat, 
A soldier passeth by," 
Toll the burial bell, 
Let sorrow on the breezes swell, 
While we chant his requiem with a sigh. 

" With heart-beat and drum-beat, 
A soldier passeth by : " 
Grant, the peerless head 
Of mighty men, is dead ; 
His funeral train draweth nigh. 

" With heart-beat and drum-beat, 
A soldier passeth by ; " 
The great, the good. 
The matchless fortitude, 
Doth in yon coffin lie. 

*' With heart-beat and drum-beat, 
A soldier passeth by ; " 
The leader of the age, 
The manly martial sage. 
Gone from you and I. 



WITH HEART-BE A T AND DR UMBEA T. 221 

' With heart-beat and drum-beat," 
While this "soldier passeth by," 
Out of the world's bloom 
Into the dismal tomb, 
Weep with soul and eye. 

"With heart-beat and drum-beat," 
The soldier hath gone by, 
Never again to pass 
The people en masse. 
Till assembled in the sky, 

Where, with trumpet-beat and music-sweet, 
In the coming by and by, 
We '11 greet our leader, Grant, 
With a celestial chant, 
As the eternal ages fly. 



228 CAMPBELLS FOEMS. 



THE RAPTURES AND ROSES OF VICE. 

There's preaching and teaching, 
There 's crying and screeching 
From pulpet and forum, 
About morality and decorum ; 
But they must have hearts of ice, 
Who never have tasted 
The raptures and roses of vice. 

The laymen look wise out of their eyes, 

Under a Sunday diguise ; 

And the deacons in line 

You 'd think were divine ; 

But they must have hearts of ice. 

Who never have tasted 

The raptures and roses of vice. 

The mothers and brothers, 

The sisters and lovers. 

To meeting regular go, 

And sing in a rapturous flow ; 

But they must have hearts of ice, 

Who never have tasted 

The raptures and roses of vice. 

The miser in fear hugs his treasure dear, 
With forebodings queer ; 
While the monk in his cell 
Beads at midnight will tell ; 



THE RAPTURES AKD ROSES OF VICE. 229 

But they must have hearts of ice, 

Who never have tasted 

The raptures and roses of vice. 

The mild-minded moralist, with virtue's list, 

Upon his tenets doth insist ; 

Never once glancing away 

To where the passions stray ; 

But they must have hearts of ice. 

Who never have tasted 

The raptures and roses of vice. 



230 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



FKIAR GOMOLK 



NOTE. 

[The author has frequently passed the church herein mentioned, 
amid the darkest and -he brightest night, without seeing shade or 
shape; though he confesses not to have loitered long on Xht'. way. As 
the superstition accredited the Friar with having visited the seeup of 
his hopes and sorrows almost nightly, it is more than fortunate that 
we never met after he "went over the river ;" for methiiik-i one 
meeting would have both satisfled my curiosity and tested my 
courage.— C.j 



In my wanderings round, 
Somewhere I have "found, 
A church that stands 
On holy ground : 
Haunted by a sprite 
Of no mortal mold, 
That nightly wafts 
A glimmering death-light 
From its moss-grown steeple. 
Some centuries old. 

Once the friar Goraole 

(God rest his troubled soul), 

There broke the bread of life 

With holy hands, 

To rude, uncultured bands 

Who professed the heavenly creed. 

But on the fat of earth did feed. 



FRIAR GOMOLE. 231 

It troubled the friar sore, 

To see his followers 

So bent on gathering earthly store ; 

Mere dross that glides away 

When the sun goes down the bay. 

So he prayed and preached, 

He groaned and screeched. 

About the fires of hell, 

And how the angel fell ; 

But it scarce did any good, 

For they were a worldly brotherhood ; 

And 'twas plain to see 

This edifice of divinity, 

Tho' built on holy ground. 

Was being polluted 

With sins which did there abound. 

So one gloomy day 
The friar passed away, 
Transformed from clay 
To a spiritual thing, 
With spotless crest 
And swan-like wing. 

So within the church basement 
They buried him ; 
For his life was free from sin. 
And they wished to atone 
For the grief and groan 
Wrung from his saintly soul, 
While pointing his flocks 
To the spiritual goal. 

And now his ghost. 
Sore oppressed with grief, 



232 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

Round that churcli doth post, 

Because of their unbelief: 

And 't is ofttimes averred, 

On the most authentic word. 

That he hath been seen, 

In grave clothes clean, 

Flitting about 'neath the moon-beam ; 

That his specter face 

Wears a sad expression of grace ; 

That he makes moan 

In a sort of undertone. 

As if the woes of eternity's goal 

Lay heavy on his soul. 

For that offending race 

Who professed. 

But never experienced, grace. 

Sometimes, like a knight of the line. 

He rides a milk-white steed, 

In livery all divine. 

At furious break-neck speed ; 

As if chasing the imps away 

From that worldly flock, 

Who doth downward ever stray, 

At each tick of Death's clock. 

Alas ! thou holy soul. 
Fret not thyself 
In eternit/s goal ; 
• For the Lord of earth and sky 
Heareth not a dead man's cry. 



A CHILD AT PLAY. 233 



A CHILD AT PLAY. 

In the roseate hue of a golden day, 

I saw a fair-haired child at play, 

On a bank of flowers bright, 

Spotless, pure as a ray of the Northern Hght. 

Again, I looked at noou, 

"When madhood's frown had changed the cheek of bloom, 

And the settled traces of vice 

Had frozen the current of the soul to ice. 

Once more, at the day's decline, 
I saw that form, first made God-like, divine, 
Lie down on the darksome earth to die. 
With no loved ones standing by. 

And later on, when the mists of night 
Hid the lifeless clay from my sight. 
Then I fancied I could hear 
Strange voices whispering in my ear, 

As, with haste and hurr}^ they bore 
The lifeless thing to the other shore. 
" This way, lend a helping hand ; 
Quick, spirit him away to Pluto's strand." 

And Cometh those echoes still, 

From out of the darkness behind the hill. 

Like a mournful chant from the spirit world. 

When an immortal soul to the dismal tarn is hurled. 
C20) 



234 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



ABE NORVAL. 



NOTE. 

[The scenes of this poem are laid on the banks of the " Smoky Hill 
River," near Abilene, Kansas. The poem is founded on fact. The un- 
fortunate Drake was tried by a jury, convicted of his crime, and sen- 
tenced by the court to "be hanged," but remains confined in the State 
Penitentiary, at Leavenworth. The body of Abe Norval sleeps where 
the dark deed was done, and is known as "The grave by the river 
brink." Though cruelly murdered, and forsaken in death, his coming 
forth may be as auspicious as anyone's on the resurrection morn.— C.J 



When the sun its course had run, 

Throughout one weary day, 
There might be seen, by its parting gleam, 

Amid the glimmering gray, 
Two men that friends had been, 

Down by the river stray. 

'Neath a leafy tree, on beach and lea. 

They sat them down to wile 
Away the hours, amid blooming flowers, 

Far from sin and guile, 
In a shady grove where love might rove, 

Bewitched by Cupid's smile. 

With kindred claims, but different names. 

They lay down to repose : 
Norval as if in prayer, Drake with vacant stare. 

Shut in from human foes ; 



ABE NORVAL. 235 

But an hour or less of sleepiness 
Past, when the dark-eyed one arose. 

With observant eye you might descry, 

There was bloody work on hand ; 
As with cat-like step he silently crept 

i^way to the wagon stand, 
And the hammer took with a devil's look, 

Condemned by God's command. 

Thenback he came, like an imp of flame; 

And with a hasty stroke. 
In the darksome gloom, by the shaded moon, 

The sleeper's skull broke ; 
Who never stirred, or uttered a word, 

As the crash thro' the night spoke. 

While gazing there, with desperate glare, 

On his victim growing cold, 
Dreadful drear throbs of fear 

Thro' his being rolled. 
Strangely thrilling, with a tempest filling, 

As if to the devil sold. 

With hasty grasp and clammy clasp, 

Quicker than the words I 've said ; 
With strength of immortal hand or wizard's wand. 

He gathered up the dead, 
And, like a very knave, he threw it in the wave, 

While down the body sped. 

A plunging sound broke the stillness round, 

And the night-hawk's scream 
Startled there the deejD hushed air, 

As the body sunk beneath the stream ; 



236 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

While a voice did cry, from out the sky, 
In awful majesty supreme : 

" Thou guilty kuave, yon wateiy grave 
May not the mortal body hide : 
Ere nine suns their journey runs 

Full in view it shall ride, 
A witness free, in dreadful mockery, 

Of thy dark homicide. 

y 

"Away, begone, hide in the jungles among. 

For blood is on thy hand ; 
The mark of Cain thy face doth stain ; 

And throughout the land. 
Where'er thou flee or chance to be, 

Compunctious pangs thou shalt withstand." 

The voice ceased, as light in the East 

Streaked the morning gray ; 
Thro' its glimmering gleam there might be seen 

The murderer hastening away ; 
Tho' the nightwind's sigh and voice in the skj 

Bestrode the dismal W'ay. 

And every tree, on beach or lea, 

Seemed an officer grim. 
As he shivered and quivered 

Thro' the morning twilight dim. 
He thought all eyes of earth and skies 

Were gazing then on him. 

He went to bed in a lonely shed. 

Lighted by the gloom ; 
But not to sleep, for his heart did leap 

At shadows in the room ; 



ABE NORVAL. 237 

And every sigh, as the wind went by, 
Seemed a death-note from the tomb. 

In terrible pain he called on God's name, 

To forgive his sin ; 
But devils there, with malicious glare, 

Only mocked at him ; 
And no messenger fair, from worlds of air, 

Stilled the strife within. 

Thro' the vesper's rhyme and weary chime, 

Drearily dragged the night ; 
As imps of hell, with sulphurous smell. 

Held round his bed their wild delight : 
With eye aflame, in God's name, 

He hailed the morning light. 

Thro' broad drylight and darksome night, 

The time wearily went ; 
Till word passed round, " the body is found," 

Ah ! then he did lament ; 
As officers came and read his name, 

So off to jail he went. 

On the river's lea, by the self-same tree, 

They buried Norval away, 
'Neath brake and bush, in nature's hush. 

To await the judgment day ; 
Where may be seen his grave so green. 

Moistened by the river's spray. 

The tempest's moan, nor murderer's groan, 

Reach not his ears. 
Beyond the hush of life and worldly strife, 

He may be walking golden spheres, 



238 CAMPBELL'S POEMS/ 

Where the cruel wound that felled him to the ground 
Shall be healed as eternity nears. 

Ah ! let him sleep beside the deep, 

In yon neglected grave, 
For seraph bands, with loving hands, 

Garlands of flowers wave. 
About his brow, grown angelic now, 

Tho' marred by the hand of a knave. 



TRE LAV OF THE LO VERS. 239 



THE LAY OF THE LOVERS. 

" O ! LIST to me, lady, 
For hither I 've come, 
To this greenwood shady, 
Ere setting of sun, 

"To make thee my own, 
My angel of light ; 
More bright than e'er shown 
Stars in the Northern night. 

" Then, say, wilt thou be 
My seraph, to guide 
Down to the sea. 

And its deep waters wide? 

" Wilt thou place on my brow 
A wreath of bright gold, 
When the pulse that beats now 

Its throbbing no longer doth hold?" 

"O! yes, I'll list to thee, sir- 
Quite ready to yield, 
Without a demur. 

In this laurel green field. 

"Yes, I 'U be thy bride; 
And all that I bring 
Shall be offered with pride, 
At the shrine of my king. 



,240 CAMPBELL- S rOE^IS. 

"Ever ready I '11 be 

To lead thee away, * 

With seraph songs free, 
To the dawning of day. 

"And when this life is past, 
I '11 place on thy brow 
Wreath'd leaves of gold at the last, 
In sorrow and mourniua; somehow." 



SKIPPER JACK AND BALL A WHACK. 241 



SKIPPEK JACK AND BALLA WHACK. 

Skippee Jack 

And Balk Whack, 

Went thro' the woods together ; 

Alas, alack ! " 

Said Skipper Jack„ 

I do n't know whether 

My Amelia Mac 

Roams these wooded wilds, 

Or thro' clover smiles. 

Along the flowery heather.". 

Said BaUa Whack 
To Skipper Jack : 
" It matters not at all, 
For a hoe, a hack, 
Will make a brawl. 
In the sunny, sunshine weather. 
Where two and two, 
Tie up anew. 

With mortal made from rib of you, 
To roam the world together." 

Said Skipper Jack 

To BaUa Whack, 

As round and round they run : 

" O ! tie me in your sack, 

My head will crack ; 

For my life is done, 
(21) ^ 



242 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

If I can not find 

My Amelia kind, 

With fingers blithe, to bind 

A bandage on my thumb." 

Said Balla Whack 
To Skipper Jack, 
With frightened accents mum : 
"Poor, simple fool, 
To be the gru'l 
Of any woman's tongue," 
As he tied him tight, 
From the goblin's sight, 
Within his bag, 
With a birch-bark tag. 

Then Balla Whack 

Took Skipper Jack 

By the finger and the thumb, 

And homeward run ; 

For he thought that death had come. 

Which petrified his Amelia dumb. 

As she stood sunning herself 

In the sun. 

With that luxurious wealth 

Of curls which round her hung. 

"Hurrah, hurrack!" 

Said Skipper Jack, 
"'Tis timely done ; 

Quick, untie the sack, 

I smell my Amelia's gum ; 

I'm well again. 

And have no pain. 

! what have you done ? 



SKIPPER JACK AND BALL A WHACK. 243 

Sent lier soul to the devil whole. 
Or into the sun ? " 

Out of the sack 

Skipper Jack 

That instant sprung, 

To find his Amelia mum, 

As round and round he run. 

Tearing the hair 

From his bald head there ; 

While Balla Whack sung 

A dismal dirge, 

That she died so young. 

They laid her away, 

In the wildwood clay, 

From heaven's sight that day ; 

And journeyed the world around, 

With merriment and sound. 

But never since then 

Has Skipper Jack 

Or Balla Whack, 

Let come betAveen them 

The semblance fair of men. 



244 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



THE CONVICT. 

In the barred and banded pen, 

Shut from the gaze of men, 

The convict crouches now, 

With a shade of melancholy on his brow ; 

Brooding o'er his fate 

With savage, sullen hate ; 

For his race and kin 

Have thus condemned him, 

To die ten thousand times, 

In expiation of his crimes. 

The phantom of despair 

Grloats on him 

With a ghastly glare, 

Out of the barred and banded air ; 

While from the walls of his dungeon cold 

A troop of shadows fold 

Their shriveled wings. 

Like scorpion stings. 

About his heart ; 

Within that hell-recruiting mart, 

Where hope is flown. 

And every groan 

Sounds like the undertone 

Of some ghostly moan. 

Lonely there he waits 
Time's changeless fates. 
To bear his troubled soul 



THE CONVICT 24:b 

Out of the gloom 

Into the tomb 

Of oblivion's goal : 

Or away out of death 

Into day, where cheering beams 

And golden gleams 

On freed prisoners play. 

The keeper grim 
Shuts on him 
The massive iron door ; 
And as the grating bars 
Rattles and jars 
Thro' the heart's core, 
Off he trips in cheer 
To meet companions dear, 
Never once thinking 
Of the fettered soul 
In the dungeon's goal 
Pining and sinking. 

The roses bloom without. 
Casting perfumes sweet about ; 
The bees go wooing the flowers 
Thro' sunny dells and bowers ; 
The song-bird free 
Pipes to his mate in glee, 
Thro' all the golden hours ; 
The lambs skip and play 
Throughout the gladsome day ; 
But liberty 's gone, 
And hope 's a song 
Never to be sung again. 

There is no light within his den ; 
So he goes to bed. 



246 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

With shivering fears 
And falling tears, 
Which have been shed 
By captives many years. 

The birds may rock 

In the tree-top, 

With never a thought of care ; 

Warbling their song 

All. the day long, 

Free as the Summer air ; 

But his voice is dumb ; 

He sees not the rising sun, 

Nor notes its downward run ; 

No angels beckon him ; 

The gloomy wall. 

Like a funeral pall, 

Falls on his vision dim. 

In the evening twilight, 

As golden gleams 

Flash athwart the northern night, 

He sees the stars 

Through prison bars ; 

But what is it all to him ? 

Hope is fled, and joy is dead ; 

The world is growing dim 

To his_failing vision bounded in. 

The buds have lost their bloom, 
The flowers their rich perfume ; 
The Summer breeze is chill. 
And harsh the song-bird's thrill 
From the linden's limb : 
No cheer for the convict's ear 



THE CONVICT. 247 

Comes through the grates to him, 

Covered with shame 

And a felon's name ; 

For men have penned him in 

That den of gloom and living tomb, 

To wait the severing stroke of fate 

And the eternal doom. 



248 GAMPBELnS POEMS. 



PETER PANSY. 

[a song.] 

Little Peter Pansy 
Ate a lot of tansy, 
To cure his big, big toe, 
Which worked him woe; 
Since the mountain oak 
Eell with lightning stroke 
And hurt it so, so, so. 

Little Peter Pansy, 
From this overdose of tansy, 
Went to bed, bed, bed, 
And covered up his head ; 
Filled with mortal fear 
That Death v/as very near, 
From his tread, tread, tread. 

But 't was Miss Jerusha Jansey, 
With love instead of tansy. 
To drive away his woe, woe, woe, 
From out his head and toe ; 
And she whispered in his ear : 
"Peter, your Jerusha 's near, 
With her face aglow, glow, glow." 

Then little Peter Pansy 
Kissed his Jerusha Jansey, 



PETER PANSY. 249 

Murmuring low, low, low : 
"My toe is well. 
Sweet lily of the dell : 
Get the priest to stick us good and handy, 
With his matrimonial candy, 
For ever and for ever, O, O, 0." 



250 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 



THE HARBOR LIGHTS. 

The harbor lights are shining 

Beyond the darkness and the gloom : 

Mariner, why art thou repining, 
So near the land of bloom? 

Tempestuous tho' thy voyage hath been, 

Over sunken shoals and reefs, 
Struggling 'gainst the wiles of wicked men 

And cruel unbeliefs ; 

Take heart, the harbor bar 

Riseth now to view, 
Where assembled, waiting are 

Immortal ones to welcome you. 

Then, brother, bear bravely on, 

Thou art not many leagues from shore ; 

Where, sheltered in the heavenly dawn. 
Thou 'It sail life's venturous wave no more; 

But stand upon the heavenly landing, 

Arrayed in texture fine ; 
Where a'olden crowns ane,-els bright are handine: 

To voyagers from every clime. 

Mariner, dost hear the welcome hymn 

They send upon the breeze 
To guide you safely in. 

From life's darksome seas ? 



THE HARBOR LIGHTS. 251 

Canst see tlie many lights, 

Which angel hands have lit, 
Burning round the harbor heights, 

Where the gods in grandeur sit ? 

Then take heart, and cheer. 

Have courage yet a while ; 
The harl)or bar is very near, 

Ma/st see the celestial stile. 



252 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



CORA LISLE. 

[a song.] 

I GO where clearer streams glide 

In mute meanderings down the mountain side, 

Flowing far and wide, 

Onward to the ocean tide ; 

Where the tuneful bird 

In every dell is heard, 

Caroling a joyous word 

To the breeze with beauty stirred. 

Choeus. — 'Tis there I go 

To meet my beau. 
In love's own dell, 
Where fays and fairies dwell. 

I go where no frost or snow 

Falls on the world below. 

To chill the spring of pleasure's flow, 

'Neath the brilliant rainbow : 

Where gems, all rich and rare, 

Sparkle in the balmy air ; 

And blest peris fair 

Meet with men and maidens there. 

Chorus. — 'Tis there I go 

To meet my beau, 
In love's own dell. 
Where fays and fairies dwell. 



COBA LISLE. 253 

I go where mix and mingle maids 
On bright, moonlight raids, 
In mii'thful cavalcades, 
And beauty never fades ; 
Where Cupid's shining lance 
Never cuts askance, 
The pleasures that entrance 
Love's languid countenance. 

Chorus. — 'Tis there I go 

To meet my beau, 
In love's own dell. 
Where fays and fairies dwell. 

I go where, all the day. 
Some birdling gay. 
With witching art, doth play 
In the light of Cupid's ray, 
With her lover's tasseled horn, 
A heavenly shepherd born. 
Who wakes the laughing morn 
With music 'mid the waving corn. 

Chorus. — 'Tis there I go 

To meet my beau, 
In love's own dell. 
Where fays and fairies dwell. 

I go to bask in love's own smile, 

Embowered in beauty's isle. 

Where never wanders guile 

About the trysting-stile ; 

To sip the cream 

Of love's sweet dream, 



254 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

Where shade and shadows sheen 
Floats 'round my island green. 

Chorus. — 'Tis there I go 

To meet ray beau, 
In love's own dell, 
Where fays and fairies dwell. 



SONNETS. 255 



SONNETS. 



• THAT OTHER LAND. 

Upon the beetling crag of an Alpean crest, 

Where the blue skies silently bend above, 

I sat thinking, one night, of God and love. 

After the sun had gone down in the West, 

And the angel of sleep had spoken her rest. 

I looked on the heavens for a wonderous sign 

Concerning the land of beauty benign ; 

Or some sinless messenger from the land of the blest, 

Earthward flying to answer my soul. 

Some thoughts of the realm so divine. 

Lying beyond the black bourn and the goal 

Of the mysterious miracle land ; 

Where the chimes of the death-bell's toll 

Breaks on the shores of the fore-appointed strand. 



BY THE RAPPAHANNOCK. 

Lonesome it is to lie at my cabin door. 

Listening to the woodcock and the partridge drumming. 

Waiting, watching, for a footstep's coming, 

So familiar in the days of yore. 

Which went elastic bounding by the Rappahannock's 

shore, 
Ere the shr'apnel and the shell 
Went shrieking the moans of the dying where they fell ; 



256 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

To come home bravely marching never more, 

To enjoy the frugal cabin meal, 

The love of mother, wife, or child 

Who, of all the world alone, can feel 

The true intensity of love's passion wild. 

Most merciful God, mantle the dead where they lie ; 

Shut the rude ghost of the war forever from ray eye. 



THE SPHINX. 



Thou immortal bust of ancient fame. 

Standing mute and dreamless in the Egypt land, 

Sinking from our sight into shaded sand, 

Say, what was thy mighty sculptor's name ? 

What moved his moveless master hand 

Thy rigid features to carve like gloomy cowl — 

Gloomy as the goblin ghost of a gowl ; 

Dark as midnight, and like death the same ; 

With sightless orbs and solemn stare ; 

Mute and moveless as aught in earth or air ? 

Thou stand'st, a mysterious sentinel of time, 

Like a rock-ribbed riddle unread. 

Or measureless monster sublime, 

Between the millions living and the millions dead. 



THE EAINBOW. 

Beautiful, golden glow on the evening sky, 
Tinted fair with many a lovely ray ; 
Softly passing like an angel's sigh 
From the shores of earth to heaven away: 



soyyETs. 257 

What holy hands doth blend thy hues 
Above the mountain mists, above the dews, 
Which deepen dark and fall in rain ? 
Oh ! pleasant it is to stand and see 
Thy varied tints of wonderous imagery, 
And think no storms shall come a,2:ain 
Beneath thy wide extended band, 
In a brighter and a better world, 
Held in the hollow of the Eternal's hand, 
Where the sun-lands, of Eden are unfurled. 
(22) 



258 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 



THE RIVER NILE. 

If you would pass life away 
In the light of woman's smile, 

And escape earth's toil and play, 
Then journey to the river Nile. 

There you may sail all night 

On the water's brightening gleam, 

Where softest flakes of light 

Change life to love's young dream. 

With some fairy in the boat, 
Seated snugly by your side, 

You may, in pleasure, float 
On that love-creating tide. 

There the rippling water bars 

And Cupid full in view, 
Under the light of silver stars, 

May glide down the stream with you. 

The song of a pelican or dove. 
Wafted on the freshening gale, 

Will cheer your lady-love, 
As down the stream you sail. 

And merry reapers on the land, 
Gathering in the ripened grain, 

Will hail you from the strand, 

In sweet friendship's welcome strain. 



THE RIVER MLE. 259 

Thus, on the opening morn of life, 
Accompanied by your darling bride, 

You may sail beyond earth's strife, 
Over love's bewitching tide. 



260 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



THE PILGRIM OF LOVE. 



Under tlie rays of a tropical sun, 
Through many a distant clime, 
Went wandering a pilgrim of love, 
In that dreamy sort of existence 
Which maidens and matrons feel 
When the shades of the departed return 
To mix and mingle with men, 

n. 

Under the silvery stars, 

On an evening bright in June, 

When St. Peter oped the gates of gold, 

Letting celestial wanderers out and in. 

To rove without restraint 

Through all the glory of the upper sphere. 

III. 

On such an evening beautiful, 
In such a hallowed realm. 
This pilgrim went wandering : 
When, lo ! he met a merry group 
Of the merry daughters of Eve, 
Bedecked with golden beads, 
Seeking some form of mans' 
To soothe their ardent souls. 



THE PILGRIM OF LOVE. 261 

IV. 

But no sooner had they met 

Than strife arose as to who should 

Carry away captive our pilgrim of love : 

Who, captivated, bowed and becked 

In the most courteous manner ; 

For indeed he was dazzled 

By the particles of splendid light 

Falling in fairest seeming 

From eye-lashes of love. 

Their ruby lips and rose-tinted cheeks, 

With teeth like alabaster, 

Shown radiant 'neath the languid luster 

Of soft, celestial eyes. 



Alike entranced with all, 

A tumultuous strife arose 

In his breast as to how many 

Of these fair daughters of Eve 

He could secure to himself 

As matrons of a fairy isle. 

Where the magnolia and the orange blossom 

Fill the air with odorous perfumes. 

VI. 

But the more he strove to decide, 
The more enraptured he became, 
Until aware that strife and jealousy 
Was destroying hia peace and theirs. 
As this fair group of heavenly beings 
Contended for the Pilgrim of Love. 



262 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

vn. 

Dispirited and sick 

Of the wiles of Cupid, 

The fair vision faded 

Into disappointment and distrust, 

Like mists before the morn ; 

While thick as hail flew 

The lightning shafts of Cupid, 

Making sad havoc with the hearts of all. 

vni. 

And before three suns 
Had rolled their golden gleams 
Athwart a clouded sky, 
The Pilgrim of Love, 
Journeying, came to a land 
Where love never enters its gloomy portals 
To light the soul past the doorway of doom. 
Hung on the outposts of creation, 
Whence mists of misery float 
• And Fate writes a furlough to love. 



A MONARCH BORN. 263 



A MONAECH BORN. 

Once a monarcli born 

Went wandering, 
Poor and forlorn, 

On his condition pondering. 

Once a ruler grand 

Swayed the scepter free, 
Over a mighty land, 

Like some deity. 

But now his throne. 

And all his regal state, 
He yields with a groan. 

Submissive to his fate. 

It seems to you and me. 

Who never held sway, 
A terrible thing to see, 

A monarch driven to necessity. 

But from God on high 

The tear of pity falls. 
At the humble beggar's cry 

The same as when a monarch calls. 



264 CAMPBELL S POEMS. 



WATTING FOK THE MAY. 

I'm waiting for the May, 

Watching for that angel's coming 

Along the flowery way, 

Where nymphs and naiads running, 

Sing their sweet roundelay. 

I 'm waiting for the May, 

Watching for this floral queen of beauty, 
To make glad the laughing day, 

With the filching fairy's booty, 
Plucked from bud and blossom's spray. 

I 'm waiting for the May, 

Watching for some angel holy 
From the gates of heaven to stray. 

To the manger, rude and lowly. 
Where the babe of Bethlehem lay. 

To wake the sleeping May 

With a celestial song, 
Whose sweet echoes forever, aye, 

Earth's mortals may prolong. 
As into the dream-lands they stray. 

From the blossoms and the May 

Down to the river's sighing, 
Along the dai'ksome way ; 

Where the blooms of life are dying 
In the sun's meridian ray. 



WAITING FOR THE MAY. 265 

I 'm waiting for the May ; 

Sometimes almost discerning, 
Through the misty morning gray, 

Those loved ones returning, 
Gone through seraph lands to stray. 

I'm waiting for the May, 

To beam with a celestial light 
Brighter than any Northern ray, 

Beyond the sable folds of night, 
Over inlet, haven, bay. 

I'm waiting for the May, 

Becalmed in a kind of trice. 
Where the tides of time noiseless stray 

Under the walls of Paradise, 
This side the landing's quay. 
(23) 



266 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



ON THE SHORES OF THE POTOMAC. 

On the shores of the Potomac, 
Where the waves of freedom rol, 

Watch-fires once were lighted, 

Which thrilled the depths of Liberty's soul. 

'T was there the soldier bivouacked ; 

'T was there he fought and died 
Under the glorious stars and strijies, 

Blest emblem of a nation's j)ride. 

In the brightness of the morning, 

In the darkness of the night, 
Amid the clash of angry steel, 

Many a spirit took its flight. 

From the battle's bloody bed. 

From the hard and trampled sod, 

Up the bright and shining pathway, 
To the judgment throne of God : 

That America might united stand ; 

That manhood might be free 
In the world's grandest nation, 

From the center to the sea. 

In the council of the skies 

High Heaven did ordain 
That this land should united be. 

When our fathers broke the British chain. 



ON 1HE SHORES OF THE POTOMAC. 267 

And when the curst treason plot 

Stained our hands with kindred blood, 

Along the banks of old Potomac, 
Where our fathers manly stood, 

From the door of another world, 
From the realm of a grander sway, 

The soul of our good Washington 
Hovered round the rugged w ay ; 

And, though unseen to mortal ken, 

All the bright celestials gone 
Who nutured freedom's budding germ, 

Bade us to victory hasten on. 

On the shores of the Potomac 

No camp-fire now is seen ; 
The ghost of the cruel war has glided, 

Like ripples, down the stream. 



268 CAMPBELL'S FO-BMS. 



THE LILIES AND LANGUORS OF LOVE. 

Men become wise 

Under far Northern skies ; 

And ladies so fine 

Seem something divine, 

'Neath the glimmering moonshine ; 

But in that far Northern clime, 

Many a fair Eden dove 

Knows nothing of 

The lilies and languors of love. 

Where the cold, chilly breeze 

Moans moodily through the trees, 

Love's nymphs seldom stray, 

And Cupid throws his darts away, 

Impatient of delay ; 

For in that far Northern clime, 

Many a fair Eden dove 

Knows nothing of 

The lilies and languors of love. 

On the cold, barren shore, 

Where fools for an ocean explore, 

There seldom a ray 

From the bright orb of day 

Goes glimmering that way : 

Through that far Northern clime, 

Many a fair Eden dove 

Knows nothing of 

The lilies and languors of love. 



THE LILIES AND LANGUORS OF LOVE. 269 

Under Boreas'* cold reign 
Title-deeds hold not the domain ; 
And never a rill, 
With fetterless will, 
Breaks from eternity's chill : 
In that far Northern clime, 
Many a fair Eden dove 
Knows nothing of 
The lUies and languors of love. 

Vague, distant, and dim, 
Shadows of mystery swim 
'Round the cold glaciers that glow 
In the light of eternity's sheen. 
From the door\vay of God sujDreme; 
But in that far Northern clime, 
Many a fair Eden dove 
Knows nothing of 
The lilies and languors of love. 

There the wolf and the bear 

At each other stare, 

And the will of the Esquimaux 

Is to man a law, 

Without a silt or saw ; 

But in that far Northern clime, 

Many a fair Eden dove 

Knows nothing of 

The lilies and languors of love. 

There, cold as the snow. 
Love's passion doth flow ; 



*Boreas: Pertaining to the North, or the North-wind.— C 



270 CAMPBELLS POEMS. . 

Not so at the line 

Where women and wine 

Mar the form divine ; 

But in that far Northern clime, 

Many a fair Eden dove 

Knows nothing of 

The lilies and languors of love. 



END ALU. 271 



ENDALU. 

I. 
Fairest maiden, Endalu, 

Blooming like a flower, 
Mid the daisies and the dew, 

I sing to thee this hour, 
At the twilight's fading hue. 

In a green-leafed bower, 
Some tender lines of love 
Earthward borne from lands above. 

n. 
'T is the holy hour of night 

When the chirping crickets sing. 
And some soft celestial light 

Angels round about us fling, 
Too bright for mortal sight: 

Slowly plodding, without wing. 
Through the daily cares of life. 
Amid its battles and its strife. 

m. 

Bright angel, Endalu, 

Still lingering at the fountain, 
I wait and watch for you ; 

But the path upon the mountain 
Revealeth not thy view 

Passing near the widow's inn, 
Or thy fairy form Avhich used to play 
'Round our trysting place each day. 



272 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

IV. 
Ofttimes, at eve, I hear 

The echoing of thy sweet words 
Warbled forth in cheer 

By the merry-tuueful bu-ds, 
While winging the ether clear, 

Like those fair, celestial herds 
Which wander through fields above, 
Where rivers shine and God is love. 

v. 

My boat rides idle in the bay ; 

My dog 's grown old and blind 
Since thou hast gone away ; 

Earth's pleasures I seldom find, . 
Foi love's bright ray 

Goes darkling through my mind, 
Which did the hours beguile 
Under thy serai^hic smile. 

VI. 

But as the distant ages go 
SweejDing silently along, 

I hope again to know 

You amid the happy throng. 

Who sail the tide of eternal flow, 
And be cheered by your song, 

Beyond the stormy sea 

Of wild, wide mystery. 

VII. 

My dearest angel, Endalu, 

When the daisies bloom again. 

And the earth is decked anew, 

I'll twine a garland round thv name 



END ALU. 273 



Of fairest flower and hue, 

Without one dying stain, 
Like thy seraphic soul to be 
Fit emblem of its purity. 



274 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 



THE SPORTSMEN AND THE PIGEONS. 



NOTE. 

[The cruel sport of pigeon-shootinar so frequently practiced iu sorae 
of our cities of the West, suijgested these lines: 

I should never deem it much glory to be 
Called "t!ie best shoot,'' ^Yhere scores of 
God's feathered warblers must die to make me great. — C] 



Ye immortal gods, attend, 

Come witness a fete of arms ; 

For listening to the music of the spheres 

Is naught compared with the sportsman's charms : 

With death-destroying weapon, 

And murder in his eye, 

He shoots down the harmless pigeon, 

And exults to see it die. 

Come, leave your crowns behind. 

Forsake the angel throng ; 

For at the morrow's pigeon shoot, 

We '11 roam the sports among : 

And glory to the man 

Whose steady hand and aim 

Excels all others there 

In strewing pigeons on the plain. 

What if the ritual and the rite 
Of heaven remain undone ? 



THE SPORTSMEN AND THE PIGEONS. £75 

'T is nothing to the crowning work 

Of to-morrow's fun. 

The pigeons are at hand, 

A keeper, skilled and true, 

I^ in waiting to " slip them oflf," 

By one, by two 

Then get your golden slippers on. 

Walk down the crystal bai's ; 

Do n't delay a moment, 

E'en now the welkin jars, 

With the music of the revel, 

With the rattle of the shot. 

Which spouts the blood from the pigeons 

In many a sickening clot. 

Bring Gabriel with his bugle, 
And St. Peter from the gate. 
To entertain the celestials 
Who round about will wait ; 
For our sportsmen are the best; 
A lady's game-bag is the prize ; 
And the work of death begins 
As sure as to-morrow's sun doth rise. 



And while 't is scarce agreed, 
It might be well to bring along 
The outcast, Pluto, 
With a number of his throng, 
To swell the audience-line 
Around these gunners brave ; 
As for mirthful pastime 
They "fill the pigeon's grave." 



276 CAMPBELL'S POEMS 

Great Jove, didst Thou 

Create this thirst for blood? 

Or has maukind degenerated 

From where our father, Adam, stood? 

For pigeons in the garden. 

And without upon the tree, 

Was n't molested by Eve or Adam, 

Or by the serpent's fiendish glee. 



A DIliG-E. 



A DIKGE. 

Eest upon the bosom of thy God, 
In the mystery of a moveless calm ; 

For he the rough world trod, 

Through its sorrows and its balm. 

With dust returned to dust, 

And the soul to mansions up on high, 
The light of celestial splendors burst 

Around those spots where mortals die. 

And all the heavenly choir 

Pause in their songs ss. rene. 
To strike a dirge from the golden lyre, 

At the dissolution scene. 

When the teunant house returns to clay, 
And the spu-it back to Allah, kind, 

There is a mystery enacted, ay 
Too great for the human mind. 

Lonely they who linger here, 

Sad the bowers you played within ; 

But a brighter world, and clear, 
Welcomes thy freed spirit in. 

Our tears may in sorrow fall, 
Eiven hearts in anguish moan, 

'Round about thy darksome pall. 
For the missing form at home; 



278 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

But angels on the other shore, 
Enraptured with delight, 

Lead on to joys before, 
Up the heavenly height. 

Then no dirge will we upraise, 
No shade of sorrow's gloom ; 

For bright, celestial rays 

Break in beauty round thy tomb. 



LINES TO LOTTIE. 279 



LINES TO LOTTIE. 

One beautiful eventide, 

Amid the starlight's shine, 

I walked and wandered wide 

From life's straight onward line ; 

'T was there I met a fairy creature 

With graceful form and feature, 

Flowii earthward from the gates of light, 

To guide men's souls aright. 

Some softly-hallowed spell 

Of light and loveliness 

'Round about me fell, 

Like the shadow of a bliss, 

Whose deep witchery stole, 

Like a thrill of life divine, 

Into my very soul ; 

Shed from wings of heavenly shine 

Right out of eternity's goal. 

I gazed my throbbing heart away, 

Not knowing what to do or say ; 

For in those dreamy eyes 

I saw the light of Paradise 

Shedding round its mildest ray 

In soft, celestial particles 

Like those which fall from the gates of day. 

Swift as the fleeting stride of Time 
The moments sped away, 



280 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

Under the bright moonshine, 
When first I met this angel rare, 
Flashing on the glorious eventide 
So bright and fair. 

Loosen'd to the balmy breeze, 
Like foam ripples on silvery seas, 
Floated out her auburn Lair 
About rich, rounded shoulders rare, 
Whose supernal gleam 
Made her seem 
Some apparition of a dream, 
Scattering sunny smiles 
Around love's fairy isles. 

'T is so seldom we 

Such sights do see. 

My gentle Lottie, 

That the soul delights 

To revel and run, 

With the brightening sun. 

Upon those shores of gold, 

Where fancy never grows old, 

And love keeps stride 

Through all the ranges 

And pleasant changes 

Of imagination wide. 



THE HARP OF GOLD. 281 



THE HARP OF GOLD. 

From a harp of gold 

Celestial music rolled, 

Under the touch of a haud divine, 

An earthly angel's of the olden time. 

Who often sought Bucharia's groves, 

Where the love-god roves, 

By downy dell, and stream so clear. 

In the beautiful vale of Cashmere. 

The hand that smote its strings 
Strays now with angel wings 
Through the land of never a shade, 
With brilliant brightness laid 
Playing on a lute of love 
To celestial myriads above, 
Who wait in groves of balmy spice, 
Along the borders of Paradise. 

This queen of symphony 

Could all the arts of minstrelsy employ, 

To fill the soul with joy ; 

Touching each hidden spring 

Of the harp's celestial ring. 

Near the harp of gold 
A shadow lingers yet ; 
But the hand that thrilled it 
Has in death grown cold . 
Amid its mirthful strings 
No sylvan symphony rings ; 
(24J 



282 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

Sweeping o'er its golden keys, 
Like a mid summer's breeze, 
Wafting in and out tlie trees 
Memories of other years, 
Which move the soul to tears. 

Over its ivory board, 
Where song in rapture poured 
Its most seraphic lays. 
The hand of Time strays ; 
Effacing the golden shine 
Of the architecture all divine. 

From each moldering string, 
Like a moth-eaten thing, 
Touched by Time's corroding wing, 
Come sounds of sorrow drear, 
Mournful, grating on the ear, 
When some careless hand. 
Or rustic of the land, 
Unthinking breaks the spell 
Which round about it fell. 

When Death's dark angel grim 
Led away with him 
Over the distant glade, 
The hand that on it played 
Those loved minstrel notes. 
Sweeter far than floats 
From bulbuls' ^'^ dying throats. 

The richest lay 
My lady fair did play, 
Went floating in the air 
Just at break of day. 



*Bulbul: The Nightingale.— C. 



THE HARP OF GOLD. 283 

Like enchantment seeming, 
When all the world lay dreaming, 
As if an angel's diviner art 
Moved to melody the golden harp. 

O ! let that harp of gold 
Within its bridgment hold 
Those melodies so divine, 
So ethereal and so fine, 
Which came warbling sweet 
In the May-day's budding time, 
Ere she went to the golden street 

Touch not its accordant glee 

With thy ruder minstrelsy ; 

For perchance each molderiug string 

Some other morn may ring 

Beneath her touch again. 

With a still sweeter strain, 

Where never a discord's jar 

On the golden floor of heaven falls, 

To make or mar those coronals 

Of wreathed flowers rare, 

Which grace the brows of angels fair 

In the paradisal halls. 

Beyond the darksome river's flow. 

Where the redeemed the fullest deep 

Of music's modulated sweep 

Shall one day know. 



284 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



AS THE NIGHT IS SINKING. 

As the night is sinking, 

And the stars are blinking 

Up in the blue of heaven there, 

'T is of Liberty's Goddess now I 'm thinking, 

With her golden crown so fair 

Set round about with jewels rare. 

When friends do meet 

In lane or street 

To fill our souls with cheer, 

With patriotic music sweet, 

Comes breaking round us clear 

A brighter light in the atmosphere. 

Upon fame's high path Ave wend, 
The stranger and the friend, 
Over Liberty's lawns, 
To where all earth's mortals tend, 
Into the shades and dawns, 
Singing dirges, singing songs. 



THE POET. 285 



THE POET. 

Whose life so light and free 
As that of the poet's faiiy fancy, 
Painting bush, and bovver, and dell 
With hues more fine than Raphael ? 
Where'er he wandering goes 
Music round about him flows ; 
And laughing children flock to hear 
Something of his speech and cheer, 
As elves and fairies dance around 
The enchanted circle of his bound. 

What were beauty's brightest smile. 

Without some lover lingering at the stile ? 

Or life's gravest, grandest theme 

To move it with the fancy of a dream? 

Or the golden guinea's chink. 

Without the alluring shade of the poet's ink ? 

Or a maid's declining days, 

Without the light of love's young rays. 

Kept blooming in the sky 

By poetic thoughts that never die ? 

The bard is welcome in our homes. 
Under brightest palaces and domes. 
Upon the thronging public way, 
Where rags and riches roam each day. 
'T is he who lights the earth 
With the shadow of a brighter birth : 



286 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

For no matter how much truth is said 
By the parson in the priest's parade ; 
'Tis plain, I think, you'll all agree 
That the poet touches springs of minstrelsy, 

With his fancy's finer thought 

Beyond the range of the common lot. 

Whose visions bounded in 

Never stray through realms elysian ; 

Or catch from the unseen choir 

Notes which set the soul on fire, 

With a deep yearning of intensity 

To pass the bounded mystery 

At one step from off" this earthly sod, 

And stand in the mansion house of God. 



A WALK AT EVEN-TIDE. 287 



A WALK AT EVEN-TIDE. 

At the close of a clay 
I went wauclering away 
To where the river lay, 
From strife and toil, 
From care and Iroil, 
To muse and pray. 

In thoughtful mood, 
Through the solitude 
I rambled many a rood ; 
When heavenly sight, 
A band of angels bright 
Before me stood. 

They sped along, 
With psalms and song, 
'Mid a glorious dawn, 
Brighter than fell 
'Round Jacob's well, 
On that Egyptian lawn, 

I hastened then. 
Over mount and glen, 
After these shining men, 
. Much moved to see 
A glimpse of divinity 
With my mortal ken. 



288 CAMPBELL'S PGEMS. 

Then my Annalee, 
With bright angels three, 
Came beckoning unto me, 
To meet her there, 
Beyond the golden stair, 
Near the throne of Deity. 

For Death's cold hand, 

With Charon's band. 

Had ferried her from the strand, 
'Mid the May-day's morn, 
When our love was born 

Under fate's fell wand. 

Her look benign, 

And features fine. 

Engraven on this soul of mine, 
May molder and fade 
'Neath the church-yard glade, 

But not their heavenly shine. 

I bade her stray 
From the shining way 
Down to earth's cold day : 
Half tempted, she 
Cast one glance at me. 
Then pointed to the gates of day. 

Then winging away 

Through mist and spray. 

They bore my leveling gay ; 
While I strove to find 
Some speech of heavenly kind 

With which to bid her stay. 



A WALK AT EVEN-TIDE. 289 

'T was a glorious sight 

To see those forms of light 

Moving athwart the uight, 

With crowns all new 

Of heavenly hue, 
And radiant with delight. - 

I followed till the way 

Was barred by rocks of gray, 

Which quite underlay 

The robber's redoubt, 

Who had his heralds out 
And bade me stay. 

The vision sped. 

Like the sounding lead 

On the bones of the dead ; 

While darkness fell, 

From heaven to hell, 
'Round my throbbing head. 

I wandered back 
Over the lonely track, 
FUled with grief alack ; 

Deep pondering why 

That company of the sky 
Left me with the robber pack. 

O ! what may be 

This revelation unto me, 

In the vistas of eternity ? 

And shall I, 

Amid the boundless sky, 
Find my Annalee ? 
(25) 



290 CAMFBELUS POEMS. 



ONE BY ONE. 

One by one the roses bloom, 
Cometh Winter, cometh June : 
One by one these hearts of ice 
Meet and part, stray babes of paradise. 

One by one the moments fall. 

Golden, glorious, numbered not at all: 

One by one the sinking sands of time 

Run through the hour-glass with a dying chime. 

One by one the gray hairs come, 
While we 're idly waiting in the sun : 
One by one life's chances go, 
Swept away by an uuder-current's flow. 

One by one these lamps of life go out, 
Quenched in darkness and in doubt : 
One by one we miss the prize 
Of eternal life beneath the skies. 

One by one the brightest fade 
And falter, in the life parade : 
One by one we miss the gate 
Opening on God's land immaculate. 

One by one the days flow on. 

Out of life to the morrow-morn : 

One by one the boatman ferrys o'er 

These wrecks of righteousness to the other shore. 



LINES TO EMMA. 291 



LIKES TO EMMA. 

I SOJUETEMES dream of bliss, 
And long for one fond kiss 
From the lips of such a miss ; 

But do n't tell her that I love her yet, 
Or that we ever met, 
For it would cause regret. 

The book of love is closed to us, you see, 

And Cupid laughs in glee, 

For his tinseled shafts hath wounded me. 

And since then I roam 
Through the world alone. 
Loveless, without any home. 

Many miles to-night 
■ Lie between me and her window-light, 
Which ofttimes fell upon my sight. 

Now stranger hands doth twine 
Garlands round that brow of thine. 
Bedecked with the rose and columbine. 

Fare-thee-well, Emma, dear; 

We are parted forever here, 

But mayhap not in the other sphere. 

And if it should chance 

In the heavenly expanse, 

I '11 greet thee with one loving glance. 



292 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



THE PARTING IS OVER. 

The parting is over, 

The last words are spoken ; 
But see through the clover, 

He waves back a farewell token, 
Through the folds of his 'kerchief so white. 

It might be a spirit, 
It might be a light, 

Or a tear that dimmed on my sight. 

I saw him waft back. 

On the wings of the breeze, 
A sweet parting smack, 

That none but Love sees : 
So quick it was done, 

With a thrill of regret, 
Like a flash of the sun, 

It warms my heart yet. 

Long years must pass by 

Ere I hail thee again, 
With a laugh or a sigh, 

Or a feeling of pain ; 
For away on the wide, rolling sea, 

Where the plovers and pelicans sail, 
Weary with watching, I '11 be, 

Ere thou return's t with the gale. 

Then, farewell, my dear grenadier. 

Tho' the fates and the furies may sever, 



THE PARTING IS OVER. 293 

Love's light pinions will bear me to thee, 
There let me bask in thy smiles forever; 

For thou hast lodged in my heart 
A gold-tinseled arrow, 

And none but thee can impart 
A joy for this sorrow. 



294 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



THE FALLING OF THE LEAVES. 

Within the wooded dell, 

Whose haunts I love so well, 

Ofttimes I stray along. 

Listening to the feathered songster's song, 

Poured out in music's mirthful mood 

Upon the quiet solitude. 

'T is a dreamy kind of place, 

Where the slanting sunbeams chase 

Like shadows o'er the soul ; 

In the hush of nature's onward' roll 

The sands of life through the dial's flow, 

Ceaseless amid the Summer's and Winter's glow. 

In the Autumn's golden prime, 

When the wind-harps of the universe rhyme 

Out their requiem and their dole 

For the decay of nature's soul, 

'T is then my sympathetic spirit grieves. 

When I listen to the falling of the leaves. 

The rustling of whose shaded rim 

Rattles to the fiber's thrill within, 

As it falls upon the mufiled ground 

With the subdued murmur of a dying sound, 

Which the sylvan nymphs have heard 

Since God to Adam spoke the parting word. 



THE FALLING OF THE LEA VES 295 

In the forest aud the shade, 

'Neath the greeuwood colonade, 

When joyous Spring is on the wing, 

'T is there I love to sit and sing 

Some old familiar tune, 

To the elves and fairies dancing 'neath the moon. 

But when King Frost returns again, 

And a darksome shade fits in the wane, 

Rustling through the dying leaves, 

Like reapers binding golden sheaves. 

Ah ! then the touch of Time, on his diurnal round, 

My inner self doth wound. 

The music of the falling leaves. 

Like the woof of the web Death weaves, 

Wafts through the loom of time 

A sort of mournful chime ; 

For in their earthward fall 

Is shadowed forth the doom of all. 



29C CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



A CASTLE BY THE SEA. 

" In a castle by the sea, 

Bound down with crud chains, 
My lover lies, thinking of me ; 

Heartsick with aches and pains : 
Taken in the fight 

Which made us slaves ; 
Battling for the right, 

For home, and kindred graves. 

"All day the water's foam 

Lashos tlie turrets round. 
Making a hollow sort of moan 

Like the rumbling thunder's sound ; 
While the sentry's tread 

Marks the clanking chain, 
Like memories of the dead 

Running thi'ough the bi'ain. 

** My lover was a soldier true, 

A captain of the band. 
Who never failed, when comrades were few, 

To bear the ready brand. 
He fought like a leader free. 

Far from home and lands ; 
But a captive, he 

Now pines in cruel hands. 

"A curse on the treacherous knave 
Who drew his cutlass keen 



A CASTLE BY THE SEA. 297 

On the back of my lover brave 

When the foe did intervene, 
As alone he stood, 

Overpowered and outdone, 
In the shadow of the wood 

And the sinking sun. 

"Moan out your requiem low, 

For that free-born spirit there 
Is surrounded by the glow 

Of a light so very fair ; 
And a band of shining ones 

Are waiting now to guide. 
From those torturous bands, 

His spirit o'er the eternal tide." 



298 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



THE FATE OF FIVE HUNDRED. 



Amid the wind's low wailing, 

A ship went sailing, 

Over the foamy sea, 

Out from the harbor-bar, 

As the silvery moon shown clear, 

And twinkled each glowing star 

In the deep of the atmosphere. 

n. 

On board, a joyous company 
Talked and laughed in glee : 
Five hundred human souls, 
In search of pleasure bound ; 
They see not the gathering fates, 
Nor hear the sea-gull's sound, 
Till the storm in fury breaks. 

III. 

A hurricane is sweeping by ; 
Anger blackens all the sky, 
In midnight's darkest gloom ; 
While the fiends of misery seem 
To gibe and grin, 
At the lightning's gleam. 
And the angry ocean's din. 



THE FATE OF FIVE HUNDRED. 299 

IV. 

In fury the tempest breaks 
Ou the reefs and ocean shoals : 
Amid the elemental gleam 
The ship like a fragment drifts ; 
Mastless, helmless, all, 
Between the raging waves, 
Rising like a mountain wall. 



Amid prayers and moans, 

Curses, shouts, and groans, 

All mingling there, 

The ocean's foamy waves 

Rolled restless on ; 

While ship and crew found a grave 

In the beams of eternity's dawn. 

VI. 

Many a ship's crew, 

Freighted and fair to see, 

Hath gone sailing out of port, 

Down into the sea, 

From friendships all. 

Never more to be 

Seen upon the ocean's wall. 

vn. 

And many a moon. 

In the darkest gloom. 

Hath shed her light 

Where the missing are ; 

Shaded by the beams 

Of heaven's brightest star. 

Breaking on their ended dreams. 



300 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



SUNSHINE AND SHADE. 

Let the sunshine of life 

Steal into your soul, 
Amid the world's strife, 

As onward you stroll ; 

For one golden gleam 

Sped into the mind. 
Will make earth seem 

A paradise to mankind. 

O what a pity we, 

When clouds hang low, 

Can 't look and see 

The soft, effulgent glow ; 

Beyond the dark gloom, 

Brilliant and bright 
As the paradise bloom, 

To the enraptured sight. 

Over Death's river. 

So far and away, 
Golden leaves shiver 

In the light of the spray. 

There fair fountains gleam 
Through realms of sacredness, 

By earthly mortals unseen, 
This side the shores of bliss. 



SUNSHINE AND SHADE. 301 

Darkness and gloom 

May settle about us here, 
But beyond the tomb 

Heralds of hope appear, 

And shadowy beings fair, 

Somewhat akin to man, 
Hold concerts in the air 

Under the singer Tan-sein.* 

Forever, as the days may pass, 
Forever, as the nights may come, 

Like Time's bright hour-glass, 
The sands of eternity run. 

The sunlight of heaven 

Will cast a bright gleam 
'Round about those who have striven 

For the crown of life supreme. 

And in the yonder land. 

Beyond the river's swell, 
Where wait earth's vanished band 

And all the angels dwell, 

There never shall come a cloud 

To obscure the brightness of the sun ; 

Or the rustle of a coffin shroud, 
As the ages of eternity run. 



*Tan-seiii. — "At Guailor is a small tomb to the memory of Tan-sein, 
a musician of incomparable skill, who flourished at the court of Ak- 
bar. The tomb is over-shadowed by a tree, concerning which a 
superstitious notion prevails, that the chewing of its leaves will give 
an extraordinary melody to the voice.— W. Hunter, Esq. 



302 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 



«'THE APPLE MAN." 



NOTE. 

[Frank Doman was charged with having murdered John Fogel, of 
Franklin county, Kansas (known as "The Apple Man"), on August 
25, 1S83, with a revolver, in Dickinson county, Kansas, at or near 
Turkey Creek, in the southern part of the county, and was arraigned 
before a jury at the October Term, 1885, of the District Court, held at 
Abilene, Kansas, and discharged by the court, on a motion of the 
prisoner's counsel (after the prosecution had rested), " to discbarge 
the defendant, for the reason that the evidence introduced on behalf 
of tlie state is not sufficient to put the defendant upon his defense." 
There was no pains spared by the people of the county and vicinity 
to apprehend the homicide and avenge the atrocious deed. The body 
was found more than half a mile from any house, and some distance 
from the roadside, in a badly decomposed state, and was supposed by 
the coroner's jury to have lain there about three weeks. It was a 
shock to the entire community, as the people of that locality were 
law-abiding citizens. The wife and son of the deceased, who were 
summoned, were deeply affected at the loss of a kind husband and 
father. It was thought by many, that "the right man had been appre- 
hended; " but there was a lack of proof to fasten the crime upon him. 
What may yet be developed is, of course, unknown.— C] 



Cruelly murdered iu the prairie land 
By some imkuowu assassin's hand ; 
When the leaves were tipped with gold, 
And the Autumnal winds blew cold ; 
Intending to sell his load of apples small, 
To provide for a famishing family's call. 

Whether under the light of the stars, 
Or when the sun ran down the crystal bars, 
Or in the morning's mellow time, 
None may tell the moment of the crime, 



"THE APPLE man:' 393 

Which sped his soul from earth away, 
Over the borders of Hfe's darksome bay. 

The body found, some weeks had fled . 
Since grim Azrail, angel of the dead, 
Had witnessed that inhuman stroke, 
Which his half-clad bosom broke, 
And felled his body in the shade 
Of that deserted prairie everglade. 

Only a short distance farther on, 
Partly shut from daylight and from dawn, 
Beneath a silent, somber-shaded grove, 
Where a ri2:)pling stream doth onward rove, 
A wagon with some unsold apples there, 
A dead horse and mate that once were pair. 

With a coat, some blankets, and a whip. 

Blood-clots that from the wagon still did drip. 

Was all the coroner and his jury saw 

As a clew to apprehend the outlaw, 

Who had sought refuge in retreat 

From the search of a thousand hurrying feet. 

Underneath the silent prairie sod 

They laid the body, with soul gone home to God, 

And shipped the blood-stained wagon then 

By railway back to the sorrowing family's ken ; 

For he was a husband and a father true, 

In a sphere where was honest Avork to do. 

Then Suspicion faltered at a stand. 
Till she closed on one her clammy hand ; 
And with iron shackles strongly bound, 
He in the "prisoner's dock" was found: 



304 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

But at the end of the prosecution based, 

The judge did say, " the pi'isouer is misplaced." 

So again he went walking forth at large, • 
Quite free from the implicating charge ; 
AVhether rightly so or not none may know. 
Till earth's prisoners doth to judgment go, 
And the murderer of " The Apple Man" is seen, 
Being sentenced in the light of eternity's gleam. 



JUDICIAL MURDER. 305 



JUDICIAL MURDER. 

Look on yon angry mob, 

That spectral ladder tall, 
And platform's secret spring. 

Through which the doomed must fall. 

The minions of the law 

Have tied their victim's hands ; 
Placed the ' ' black cap " on, 

And now adjust the noose's strand. 

A priest of God is there. 

Speaking in the culprit's ear, 

From the book of life divine. 
Blest words of hope and cheer. 

Tremulously the victim waits 

Death's approaching footfalls near ; 

Above his head the opening heavens, 
Below his feet the bier. 

Hist ! hark ! to the heavy sound, 

The fatal drop ! ah ! well 
Was that a murmur of the crowd, 

Or a laugh from the fiends of hell ! 

Mortal men have sent 

A soul back to its God ; 

And this judicial murder 

Mankind doth applaud. 
(26) 



306 CAMPBELVS POEMS. 

The victim may have sinned, 
But is your's less than crime. 

To indulge with the crazy mob 
In killing a soul divine? 

It matters DOt how many 

A part of the burden bore ; 
No excuse for maming a spirit 

Will pass current on the other shore. 

The Creator of us all 

Gave each a lease to live ; 
But he never gave to man 

A right to take what he can not give. 

'Tis barbarous, in an age 

When progress moves upon the wing 
Thus to send immortal souls 

Maimed into the presence of the King, 

Eather secure within guarded walls, 

Those who from the paths of honor stray, 

For the remainder of a wrecked life. 
Than murder in this cruel way. 

For the God who gave to man 

The mysterious life-princij)le within, 

Mayhap would secure it back 

Without the hangman's mark of sin. 

Let us then, in this enlightened age, 
Pull down the gibbet and the tree, 

And lead criminals to repent, 

Ere we launch them into eternity. 



MUSING BY A LAKELET S SIDE. 307 



MUSING BY A LAKELET'S SIDE. 

'T IS the center of the night, 

I stand near a mountain's height, 
Whose shadow faUs on a lake of liquid light : 

At my very feet 

Roll the waters sweet, 
Which murmur to my heart's low beat. 

Some spu-it of the lake, 

Who lingers yet awake. 
Or lone water-fowl its bosom now doth break ; 

While a distant ray 

Of the dying day, 
Glides- swiftly down the sky and fades away. 

I look again, 

And the angel train 
Seem assembled on the heavenly plain ; 

While pulsations slow 

Through my soul doth go, 
As I listen to that chorus sweet and low. 

One glimmering star 

Above the waters far. 
Shoots down to kiss the harbor bar ; 

The wind's soft swell 

Adown. the dell, 
Comes like an angel-whisper I remember well. 



308 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

A bright light gleams, 
Like that which teems, 
In softest falling along those Eden streams ; 
Where cherubs gaze. 
And angels strays, 
Upon you streets of duplicated golden haze. 

The moonlight's shaded rim 

Is hid in the azure dim ; 
But a celestial splendor falls on the lakelet's brim : 

And there again 

I hear the angel strain, 
So gently sounded from the heavenly plain. 

Blest night of June, 

Tho' missing be the moon, 
Comes bright memories of a well-rememberGd tune ; 

Sung in other days 

By one who sleeping lays 
'Neath the willows where the stream in silver strays. 

In the sacred ground, 

Where silence reigns profound, 
And the buried dead are laid around. 

Naught breaks the speU 

Which holds so well, 
Over man's last, lone, earthly citadel. 

From the waters clear, 

Up through the atmosphere, 

We may sometime gain that other sphere, 
Above the deserted world. 
When the eternal morn unfurled, 

Topples mountains into deepest chaos hurled. 



TO CARRIE. 309 



TO CARRIE. 

Thou bewitching little lass, 

Who first awoke my Muse, 
And tripped so light upon the grass 

With thy bright and gilded shoes ! 

Many times since then. 

While ranging the world alone, 
I've longed to meet again 

And claim thee for my own. 

I 've sat in many a lady's bower 
And kissed the queenly brow ; 

But never since that hour 
Have I loved as I loved thou. 

You were an angel bright 
To my soul's serenest bliss ; 

And I loved to linger in the light 
Of thy chaste sacredness. 

Some moments smce that time 
The world has frowned on me ; 

But thy saint-like form divine 

Like a herald of hope I always see, 

Forever beckoning on 

To the highland hills serene, 

Where the daylight's dawn 

In splendor breaks o'er all the scene. 



3J0 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

Oh believe me, lady fair, 
Thou art to me the same ; 

As when on that willow there 
I cut and carved your name : 

When thy slender penknife broke, 
As you did finish mine, 

A cruel doom to me it sjooke 
Amid that dying day's decline. 

'T is strange that there should be 
A shade or shadow'd art, 

A fate or fate's decree. 
Could keep us two apart. 

Some other hand than mine 
Will roughly cull and prune 

The tender budding vine 
Till it shall lose its bloom ; 

And then perchance 

Love not so heavenly born 

Will wound the heart askance 
With a neglectful thorn. 

While I 'm doomed to sit and sing 
Beyond the watery waste, 

I pen this simple offering 
To thee in careless haste. 

Dear Carrie, let me send 
A kind good-night to thee ; 

For thou art the Muse's friend. 
And mother of my minstrelsy. 



STANZAS. 311 



STANZAS. 

Golden ,are the dreams of light, 

The fancy of our youthful morn; 
When Romance begins her flight 

On painted pinions borne ; 
When Imagination plumes her wing, 

Sweeping through a higher sphere ; 
And hopes unchecked, exulting, spring 

Away to glean new pleasures dear. 

When Eden, like our mother earth, 

Came forth from chaos into life, 
Fair celestials of a brighter birth 

Quick laid the elemental strife ; 
And Beauty shed her mantle round 

The azure heights of heaven. 
As before the dying thunder's sound 

The confusions forth were driven. 

Mementos of a guileless day. 

By our first earthly pair. 
Were treasured as some holy ray. 

Ere men's hearts were false or fair ; 
Which the doomed and doubting mind 

Sees falling from the gate of gold. 
When that gate is left behind, 

For the pleasures of the downward wold. 



312 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



THE PIRATE'S PRAYER. 

Once from a shadowy land 
There sailed a pirate band, 
In the fleet vessel "Afledine," 
Equipped for deeds of crime, 
Under the pirate, Vanse, 
Of stern and gloomy countenance. 
Who never knew a pause in sin 
When the work of hell did once begin. 

His picked and trusty men 
Caught that spirit when 
The shrieks of death were heard, 
And the angry soul was stirred 
To dreadful deeds that seem 
The lingering frenzy of a dream, 
Which appalls the human eye. 
As those white sjDecter forms 
Go swiftly floating by, 
From the murdered dead 
Up to some cove ret in the sky. 

Many a defenseless crew 

This dauntless pirate knew. 

Upon the boundless deep ; 

And many a helpless woman's shriek 

Startled the sea-gull in the air, 

Falling 'neath the ruthless hand 

Of this bold brigand. 



THE PIRA TE 'S PRA FEE. 313 

Who murdered men and women too, 
And into the angry ocean threw ; 
For he hated with the hate of hell 
All that round his pathway fell. 

He had strode upon the deck, 
Amid the battle's wreck, 
Where splintered skull and bone, 
Where the dying mortal groan, 
Where carnage bloody red, 
Lay round the vessel's head, 
Besmeared with human gore. 
That in torrents did pour 
Amid the wild delight 
That prompts a devil in the fight 
To deeds of darkest hue, 
As hell's flickering lights 
Break dimly on the view. 

There was no word or line 
In all the catalogue of crime, 
No station in its depths, 
But he 'd read and reached 
With firm and steady steps. 

He never knew remorse, 
Its throbs he could not feel ; 
For his heart was incased 
In breastplate of triple steel : 
The very devil's foreman he 
Seemed, in his reckless butchery, 
While capturing a prize at sea. 

But at last vengeance overtook 
This pirate proud of haughty look, 
(27) 



314 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

And the minions of the law 
Upon him placed their paw, 
And led him from the sea 
To answer for his deviltry. 

And now he stands, in stern 
And silent, angry mood, 
Upon the gibbet dark, 
Rudely built of stone and wood, 
With pinioned hands, 
And a holy priest of God, 
Like some angel good, 
Exhorts him in his sullen mood, 
To ' ' look away to Him 
Who can forgive the direst sin ; 
And in meek contrition pray 
To the great King Eternal, 
On this thy dying day." 

Oh ! then the pirate prayed 
To some dim, nameless shade, 
To some fiend of hell, 
Startling the curious crowd 
As his wicked murmurs fell : 

" Oh! thou curst King of Sin 
Meet me at the gate of hell, 
To herald my coming in ; 
For faithful have I been 
To my league with you in crime, 
And with all your wicked imps, 
We '11 sing some soul-tormenting line, 
And hold in hell a jubilee. 
Nor human nor divine 
Will greet us there ; 



THE PIRATE'S PRAYER. 2,1b 

'T will disturb Jehovah Kiuo'. 
For taking away life of mine 
On this morning fair in Spring. 

" Oh ! let me lead a pirate band 
'Gainst the Eternal's command, 
On the tide of endless flow, 
Through all the ages wide. 
As they gliding onward go ; 
That I may wreak this wrong 
On his angel hosts of song ; 
Who blend their tuneful chimes, 
With sweet music's murmurings, 
From ten thousand mingled rhymes ; 
Taunting those that wait 
The decrees of bitter fate. 
Burning in agony's beam. 
Because he is supreme. 

" Oh ! that the living God, ' 
Who placed a sinner upon earth's sod, 
And led him on to do 
Deeds of foulest hue. 
Might feel the fires he made, 
Just for the gratification 
Of the celestial cavalcade ; 
Ah ! methinks he 'd then 
Quench this thirst of wickedness 
In the breasts of little men. 

" Would that I might now, 
With this red right hand, 
Tear ruthless from his brow 
That ensign of command, 



316 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

And give him a little spell, 
Just for an experiment, 
In all the woes of hell ; 
Then methinks he 'd know " — 

The drop went down 

In the midst of his prayer, 

And a weird sound 

Broke through the air ; 

As if the angels dark 

Were chanting their moan, 

At the launching of his bark 

Upon the tide unknown ; 

Where all the pirate's spoil 

Deserts the soul 

Amid the turmoil 

Of winds that roll 

'Round that speck of immortality 

Winging to its eternal goal 

Thus passed from earth, 
Without a groan, 
A man of monsterous birth. 
Mocking God upon his throne. 

E'en now I shudder to think 
Of souls on the outward brink 
Of vast creation's strand ; 
Poised between two eternities, 
Where men should trembling stand, 
As the hangman counts the time, 
When the death-knell mu;-t send. 
In expiation of their crime, 
Injured souls to God supreme ; 



THE PIRATE'S PRAYER. 317 

Where bright reflected then 
Shall flash across the sight 
Of those dying men, 
Mocking God and right. 
Who go from the scaffold's gloom 
To suffer untold agonies, 
Within a deathless tomb, 
Where the ruler, Pluto, is — 
Ah ! fearful doom. 



318 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 



MISS POLLY PIPKINS. 

Come, ye romantic lovers gay, 

While I sing to you a song, 
Of a bride that, on her wedding day, 
As yankee chronicles say, 

Found she had married wrong. 

'T was in Connecticut's shade. 

In the days of long ago. 
There dwelt a bucksome maid, 
That two simple lovers paid 

There attentions to, as you may know. 

One's name was Jacques Jinkens, 

A happy sort of wight ; 
The other's was Pliilip Pilkins, 
Whose sort of simple grins 

Caught the courted maiden's sight. 

There was a kind of sympathy, 
Which none could understand. 

Linked round these lovers three ; 

For Miss Polly Pipkins she 
Gave to each of them a hand. 

But her heart would not divide 

When each his rightful portion claimed ; 
She'd resolved to be a bride, 
And startle all the country side. 

By wedding the first one named. 



MISS POLLY PIPKINS. 319 

So the liappy clay was set, 

The wedding cake was done, 
The priest and peasants met, 
The twain were one, and yet 

'T was only setting of the sun. 

The evening passed in cheer. 

The back-log smoldered in the fire , 
The hour of parting 's here 
Of the friends and neighbors dear, 
So they at once retire. 

At the hour when brides are comforted 

Polly was left alone ; 
So she went to bed 
And covered up her head, 

Just to sob and groan. 

Her Jacques had gone away, 

Unseen, from out her sight. 
To find and comfort Pilkins ! ay, 
Before the morning ray 

Had rounded into light ; 

For he felt that should. 

Without his sanction, he 
Appropriate his Polly good, 
A severed brotherhood 

Must and would inevitable be. 

So he hastened off" to find 

Philip Pilkins sorrowing there ; 

As if his half-crazed mind, 

Severed from his Polly kind. 
Had gone daft with despair. 



320 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

So Jacques and Philip then, 

Joiu-neying hand in hand, 
Like tried and trusted men, 
Made haste to meet Polly's ken, 

Over the rough and stony land ; 

When lo ! upon their road, 

While crossing a foot-bridge o'er 

A stream that angry flowed, 

Jacques, with his living load, 
Fell in and was seen no more. 

The spirits of the place around 

Noted the wind's low moan, 
A splash, a gurgling sound, 
And they, to each other bound, 

To the land of souls had flown. 

Polly sobbed the night away, 
Listening for the least approach 

Of her bridegroom gay. 

Out of the morning gray, . . 

That she might reprove and reproach. 

At last a step's returning came 

With the death-message complete ; 

But it moved not Polly's heart to pain, 

Or a lamentation's refrain, 

For she said " he was a cheat." 

Once the funeral past and gone, 
And the curious ones at home, 
Polly put her fix-ups on, 
And thereafter married Bobby Bon 
Before three moons had flown. 



MISS POLL r PIPKINS. 321 

She clidu't waste a breath, 

She did n't wet an eye, 
At this double death, 
Where the river wandcreth, 

Running in silver ripples by ; 

For she thought ' ' a beau 

Who would rather jump into 
The chilly river's flow 
Than to a new-bride's bed to go, 

Was of precious small ado. 

"And as for the rest, 

She would n't give a fig, 
Whether Avith the curst or blest, 
Or any other sort of test. 

Slept or slumbered such a pig." 

Polly's life Avas joyous, 

As married lives may be ; 
Sometimes in a fuss. 
Sometimes in a bus, 

With Bobby on a jamboree. 

But 't is Kttle use to say 

A word to woman on this theme ; 
They will always have their way, 
Whether a thing is marble or is clay, 

If the shape of man is seen. 



322 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



THE BLUE AKD THE GRAY. 

Come, bring in the opening Spring. 
Bright blooms of paradise, 
The tulip and the asphodel, 
To strew with kindly care 
On the graves of those who fell, 
Trampled here and there, 
Beneath the charge's yell 
And the cannon's fearful glare 
No matter now where or how 
They gave up their breath ; 
Whether in the blue or gray 
They marched from home away. 
Place on each mound of death 
A violet to-day. 

They died in their manhood's pride, 
Wreathed in glory's robe ; 
Beneath the cypress and the bay. 
And on the rugged mountain side. 
Holders now the blue and gray. 
Where they fell and died, 
And their souls went over the way : 
No matter now where or how 
They gave up their breath ; 
Whether in the blue or gray 
They marched from home away, 
Place on each mound of death 
A violet to-day. 



THE BLUE AND THE GRAY. 323 

The wind's sighing and the echo's dpng 

Sweep over each lonely grave, 

Where peacefully they lie at rest, 

Awaiting the judgment day ; 

Each died for the cause he deemed the best, 

The blue as well as the gray, 

Ah ! most fearful test : 

No matter now where or how 

They gave up their breath ; 

Whether in the blue or gray 

They marched from home away, 

Place on each mound of death 

A violet to-day. 

Over the meadow grass and the clover 

With lightest footstep tread ; 

For we can not know, 

At this far-off time, 

Grave of friend or foe 

Made along the battle-line 

Two and twenty years ago : 

No matter now where or how 

They gave up their breath ; 

Whether in the blue or gray 

They marched from home away, 

Place on each mound of death 

A violet to-day. 

'Neath the ground where silence reigns profound 

No distinction of friend or foe is there ; 

Then let none be made 

Either great or small. 

In our memorial parade 

'Round the burial pall, 

For each are on one level laid : 



324 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

No matter now where or how 
They gave up their breath ; 
Whether in the blue or gray 
They marched from home away, 
Place on each mound of death 
A violet to-day. 



'MUSING AMID THE PINES." 325 



"MUSING AMID THE PINES." 



NOTE. 

[The speetaole of Jefferson Davis, at the ago of nearly eighty years, 
"musing amid the pines," in Southern Mississippi, over a wasted life, 
is impressive, indeed, when it is remembered with what brilliant 
prospects he stepped upon the stage of human action, with our 
bravest and best statesmen, more than half a century ago. Ah ! well 
may he muse over a worse than wasted career; over those terrible 
results which he can not rectify; over those stains of innocent blood 
which he must carry on his soul, ere long, to the judgment bar of God, 

Alas! poormortal! thou hast missed the manhood with which thy 
Creator so lavishly endowed thee, when thy heart thrilled with hope, 
and thy hands held no stain imbrued in the blood of thy fellows. 

'Tis thus ofttimes the brightest lights of life are quenched, and the 
most gifted die, condemned of God and man. — C.l 



In lands where southern sunshine 
Lights up the orange and the pine, 
Like harper, scorned and poor. 
Sad, sorrowful, and demure, 
Strays now your leader slow, 
Murmuring, mournful low. 
Of the nation and its laws. 
Of the long-lost cause 
Still haunting that guilty soul 
As nearer to his pathway 
Death's shadow doth stroll. 

Mark his unsteady tread, 
Mark the sheen upon his head. 



326 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

Mark him ever looking round, 
As if the lingering sound 
Of that terrible civil strife 
Echoed through his life : 
As if the shriek of battle, 
And the dreadful death-rattle, 
Like ghosts of the olden time, 
Haunted him and taunted him 
With treason's terrible crime. 

You men who wore the gray, 
And out-lived the affray, 
Why desert your leader now, 
When Time hath touched his brow? 
And his step is weak and slow, 
And life's tide is ebbing low ? 
Once he was your leader bold. 
And urged your broken fold 
Against our Northern hosts ; 
Battling for a land united 
On Columbia's rugged coasts. 

Will you let him muse alone, 

Waiting till the echoes of his groan. 

And his purgatorial moan, 

Shall disturb your dreams, 

As the death-light flickering gleams 

Back over the lonely way. 

His soul must go with short delay ? 

Rather speak a word of cheer 

While your leader lingers here ; 

For, perchance, it might be 

The redeeming of that soul's depravity. 

When all those murdered men 
Shall pass before his spirit's ken, 



i'MVSING AMID THE PINES." 327 

And the light of time shall gleam 

Over that dark and bloody stream, 

Which was shed, because he led 

The army clad in gray, 

'Gainst the light of Liberty's holy ray, 

Then, methinks, will be 

Remorse's deepest misery, 

As the Judge doth close the gate 

On the doomed, abandoned to his fate. 



328 CAMPBELL'S FOEMS. 



. THE WIND HARP'S WAIL. 

List to the wiud harp's wail, 

Some weird musician's wand 
Sweeps through the neather vale, 

Held in the Storm King's hand. 

Its mystic, mournful strain. 

And prolonged note of woe, 
Sound like the wailings of pain, 

From regions of misery below. 

Some Elfin nymph of horrid shape, 
"^ With heart all black and bad. 
Must these dismal wailings wake. 
Which sound so drear and sad : 

Like fancied murmurings of the dead 
From out some silent city cold, 

Disturbing the night wanderer's tread. 
As he journeys o'er the barren wold. 

How dismal it doth howl, 

With what a moaning shriek ; 
Like a crazed tiger's growl, 

When the death-shot hath made him weak. 

It blows and frisks about 

In a sort of frantic glee ; 
Inside the house and out. 

Like the shadow of eternity ; 



THE WIND HARP'S WAIL. 329 

Making music to the ghastly crew 
Of nymphs and goblins damned, 

Who flit forever in full view, 

On the borders of mystery's land. 

And a festive time they hold 
With strange, unearthly sports ; 

When the Storm King bold 
Sinks shipping in the ports. 

Wail forth, ye harp of woe, 

Your saddest, solemn strain, 
As to eternity we onward go. 

Sailing life's treacherous main. 
(28) 



530 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 



LENEDA'S LAMB. 

Leneda lives in the hollow, 

Just uuder the hill ; 
Where the joyous spriug swallow 

Warbles at will. 

She dwells with her mother alone, 

Casting sunshine around ; 
When the fading day westward hath flown, 

With a vanishing sound. 

They till a small garden 

With tenderest care ; 
Where the bright, flowing Yardon 

Gleams past them there. 

Once with my gun and my hound, 

Thrilled with delight, 
I entered this fair-shaded bound. 

And beheld a heavenly sight. 

With a gay, silken scarf in her hand. 

And a lamb by her side, 
Leneda walked on the strand 

Of the foam-crested tide. 

Where the downy white swans, in their play, 

Moving the ripples along, 
Timed by the tune of her lay. 

Beached inlet and haven among. 



LENEDA'S LAMB. 331 

The laml) had a fleece of white hue, 

Carefully combed and kept : 
When this scene fell first on my view 

Oh ! how my heart lept. 

For the swans, all sinless, did seem 

Floating on the bright tide ; 
While a kind of soft, celestial gleam 

Shone round the maiden's side. 

'T was like the first view of paradise 

To wanderers of the air ; 
But in the space of the shortest trice 

Consternation moved me there ; 

For my hound, with speed, had fled 

Upon the lamb so meek ; 
He heeded not a word I said, 

But tore with fangs and feet. 

In an instant I shot him down ; 

He yelped his life away ; 
The startled echoes broke around, 

And frightened the swans away. 

Leneda, swooning, fell beside her lamb, 
Like one that death had touched ; 

While in that brief interval and span 
My hair I clutched ; 

For wild with wildering frenzy I 

Could n't rightly tell 
Which of the three must die, 

I took my aim so well. 



332 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

In au instant I was at her side, 

And raised her head nj)on my knee ; 

The lamb lay panting there and died — 
We were alone, she and me. 

For the honnd's cruel fangs had torn 
The flesh from its neck away ; 

And the maiden mourned forlorn 
As came life's returning ray. 

Then I raised her tremblingly upright ; 

The look she gave 
Will haunt me till my dying sprite 

Drops into the grave. 

She touched the lifeless lamb, 

And looked on me. 
With that gaze of speechless calm 

From the dying one may see. 

Leneda was the first to speak, 

With accents strange and wild ; 

For the blood had vanished from my cheek, 
She looked and ghastly smiled : , 

"Ah ! woe is me, that day should bring 
Such disaster here. 
As the death of my soul's sweet fondling, 
Given to me last year 

" By my Charlie drowned at sea, 
When the waves ran high, 
As a dear, sweet token of his memory— 
Oh! that I might die." 



LENEDAS LAMB. 333 

" Cease your plaint, my gentle one ; 
Another lamb shall be 
Ere the morrow morn may dawn, 

By these hands replaced to thee." 

She answered, with heart-riven talk : 

" l!^o lamb there is, 
In any shepherd's flock. 

May take the place of this." 

I sought to lead her then 

AAvay from the sickening light ; 

Away from the water's reddening hem ; 
For blood dimmed all my sight. 

But ere she went, she stooped and kiss'd 
The dead lamb on the mouth ; 

While a sort of clouded mist 
Came rising from the south. 

We gained at last her mother's door, 

The bloody story told ; 
While waiting there I silently swore 
"Never again a gun to hold, 

" Or ever a dog to pet as mine ; " 
For I felt within 
As my soul was answerable for that crime, 
Which appeared like sin. 

Some laborers buried the lamb 

Under a willow tree ; 
And sunk the hound with bark of tan 

In the middle of the sea. 



334 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

I caused a stone of costly hue, 
With carvings fair and nice, 

To stand at the head of the little ewe, 
As a memorial device. 

I thought her soul would die, 
As I pressed her hand ; 

And spoke the words, ' ' good bye ; 
Thy pardon I command." 

She gave it free to me. 

As I closed the garden gate, 

And wended over the flowery lea, 
Alone without a mate. 

I threw my gun within a brook, 

As I was crossing it ; 
And all my hunting days forsook 

In fair Connecticut. 

I never saw Leneda more. 

Or that willow grave ; 
I'm sitting on a distant shore, 

Now rhyming by its wave. 

But oft my mind runs back 

To the swans upon the sea ; 

To the lamb and the maiden's track, 
And my dog's fell treachery • 

When I behold some shape of sin 

Lurking round about. 
To mar the paradise within 

And put God's angels out. 



KING CANUTE. 335 



KI^^G CANUTE. 

In ancient times there reigned a king, 

Who bade the waters stand ; 
Arrayed in gorgeous trapping, 

He ruled a fair, bright laud, 
And bethought the wavelet's wing 

Must obey his high command. 

So he sat him down upon the beach, 

Wrapped in robes of gold. 
Beyond the water's reach. 

In the far-ofi" days of old, 
And thus in mystic si^eech 

To the tides that shoreward rolled : 

"Proud waves, be ye stayed, 

Nor dare to hither come , 
I 'm ruler of a mighty cavalcade. 

Whose birth-right is the sun ; 
And can destroy all planets made 

As through the depths of space they run. 

"I'm a lordly potentate, 

And mine 's an undisj)uted reign : 
I rule the mariner's fate, 

And landsman's course the same ; 
In short, I'm King Canute, the Great, 

Take notice to my name," 



336 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

The ocean's distant swell 
Unheeding heard the boast 

Which from his lips there fell 
And beat upon the coast 

Of that rock-bound citadel, 
To the feet of the king almost. 

In deepest consternation then 

This regal heir of royalty 
Saw the moving water's hem 

Rise like a frowning deity ; 
And walking down the glen 

He heard the Prince of Land and Sea. 

And a mighty, rushing sound 
Went sweeping past him fair, 

Like the voice of God profound, 
It spoke from out the air : 
"Quick, to higher ground. 

For the ocean cometh there." 

Oh ! then the king did run, 
Nor lingering longer stand. 

Defying wave and sun, 
Before that awful hand. 

With voice and features dumb, 
Who ruleth all the land. 

The waves in anger beat the shore. 
The sea-gulls floated up on high ; 

He heard the gathering tempests roar 
Along the frowning sky ; 

King Canute was troubled sore. 
He knew not whence to flv. 



KING CANUTE. 337 

He sought some desert cave 

Beneath a darksome ledge of rocks, 

Crouching like a slave, 
Or criminal in the stocks, 

Till the sun returning gave 

Its cheer to the shepherd's flocks. 

Forth he went a wiser man. 

Taught that a God supreme, 
With his omniscience, can 

Make a king seem little and mean, 
When he 'd heaven's decree withstand 

With egotistical mien. 
(29) 



338 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



REMEMBER WHILE YOU MAY. 

Be careful what you write, 

Be careful what you say, 

For your words and your writings 

Will be read on the judgment day, 

In the light of eternity's ray. 

There is no cloud of gloom 

But hath its hidden bloom ; 

There is no flowery May 

But will swiftly pass away, 

As we wander onward to the tomb. 

A penny to poverty given 
By the hand of honest toil, 
Will move the saints of heaven 
To seek and find the giver. 
Amid life's turmoil. 

A word in kindness said 
From the lips of man or maid. 
May lead some angel good, 
From guilt's dark, damning shrine 
Up to the blessed sisterhood. 

A lover's broken vow 
May leave a pang behind. 
Till the bright angel of hope, 
Again returning somehow, 
Repossess the mind. 



REMEMBER WHILE YOU MAY. 339 

Smiling fortune ready stands, 
Waiting for him who hath the nerve 
To win with willing hands, 
And from duty never swerve, 
Obeying God's commands. 

Life's shining piizes gleam 
Like geld beneath the stream • 
But he who wades therein, 
Without the proper chart. 
Will feel the hungry fish s fin; 

While the rightly-furnished may, 
With the lead and sounding-line, 
Cast anchor in the sunny bay, 
Ladened with rich rubies fine. 
Because he led the way. 

Be up and doing then. 
While the brilliant sun of life 
Gilds mountain, hill, and glen 
With fragrance fair and rife, 
For courage conquers strife. 



340 CAMPBELLS FOEMS. 



MAGGIE'S DROWNED. 

What lies yonder floatiug there. 

With form so frail and fair, 

In the middle of the river, 

Where the weeping willows shiver. 

And you stand with a sorrow-ladeued stare ? 

'T is a soulless body sped, 

Through the walkways of the dead, 

Back to its omniscient Giver. 

See the eddies bubble round 

The slender body found, 

Just there among the edges 

Of the lily-lipped sedges, 

Where Maggie was drowned ; 

The sunshine, timid, frightened, 

Scarce touches now the spot it brightened 

'Neath the shadow of the ledges. 

What is that so silken, slender. 
Aglow with liquid light so tender, 
Floating on the water's sheen, 
About the rigid face's beam? 
'T is her loosened tresse's splendor, 
Which floated from the comb, 
When her spirit had gone home 
From that faded flower I ween. 

What is that so white and fair. 
Uprisen like a spirit there ? 



MA G GTE'S DRO WNED. 341 

'Tis a hand outstretclied to heaven, 
As if asking dumbly to be forgiven, 
In the blest attitude of prayer ; 
While round her faded lips 
A kind of sorrowing-soul eclipse 
Shows she has with death striven. 

Flow on and on forever, 
Thou silent, soulless river ; 
Bear your burden and your woe 
To the nether wold below. 
Away from its mighty Giver ; 
For the crimson stain 
Which hangs on jMaggie's name, 
Ah ! Avell, too well, we know. 

Judge her not in the river there. 

But bury her body with kindly care, 

All her dreadful past forgetting, 

For the angel of time is setting, 

With golden pen, her life-record fair ; 

And the bright hereafter may 

Show her soul forgiven on that day, 

Where self-sanctified ones shall stand regretting. 

Ah ! me, that in the world, we see 

Such cruel hate and mockery 

Among the gentle sex, 

'Gainst those whose sad neglects 

Has driven from the paths of chastity; 

For no pitpng word 

By the wayward ever heard, 

Calls them back to the Deity. 



342 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

Thus from a ledge of rocks, 
When riug the steeple clocks, 
In the wildness of the night, 
Their drowned souls take flight 
From many lonely docks, 
Away from the wise, discreet, 
Away from the wicked street, 
Ever dying in such plight. 



THE PA UPER'S BIDE. 343 



THE PAUPERS RIDE. 

YoxDER the pauper goes, 

Arrayed in rags, instead of clothes, 

Stark and dead to-day, 

Over the rough and stony way, 

In a wagon without springs ; 

While the driver cracks his whip and sings. 

As the rattling wagon rings 

Over the rolling stones. 

Jostling the poor old pauper s bones. 

Oh ! what a rattling din. 
How the whirling felloes spin. 
How the choking dust is hurled. 
While he is hurried out of the world, 
As if it was a deadly crime 
To waste a minute's time 
In burying a soul divine, 
Whom nobody owns. 
With tears or with groans. 

Not one heart-throb is given 

While to the grave he is driven ; 

Not a mourner stands by. 

Not a tear from any eye 

Falls on the face of the dead, 

As into the earth his body is sped. 

With the dull thud of the sounding lead ; 

For " none but the worthless drones 

Die in the poor-house," as every one owns. 



344 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

But the pauper has made 

Some stir and parade 

In the woiid, at the last, 

Ratthng to his grave so fast ; 

E'en though it should be 

In a disgraced part of the cemetery, 

Where never a headstone you may see, 

Or a preacher speaking iu tearful tones 

Over the dead pauper's bones. 

But away with this strain, 

For my sovd is in pain, 

To think that the heart of humanity clad 

Should act so frenzied and bad 

As to forget that there lies 

A spirit in the shade of his eyes, 

Fitted for a home in the skies, 

No matter though the pauper's bones 

Be jolted to death over the stones. 



LONGI^iG FOR THE SUNSET OF LIFE. 345 



LONGING FOR THE SUNSET OF LIFE. 

Ois^E golden eventide 

I strayed in thoughtful mood, 

Along a fair hillside, 

Through the quiet solitude 

Of Nature's deepest hush, 

Broken only by the jay and thrush. 

'T was there I chanced to see 
An ancient looking form, 
That somewhat startled me. 
Sitting on a stone ; 
While he spoke in half a sigh 
And half a moan : 

"I'm weary of these years. 
Running an endless round 
Through toil and tears : 
The world is full of strife. 
Of harsh and grating sound ; 
I 'm longing for the sunset of life, 

" My years have reached a goodly span ; 
I was born in distant Hindoostan 
Of parents rich and grand ; 
But misfortune's rudest blast 
Doomed me to a lonely lot, 
In a way you scarce might wot. 



346 CAMPBELL'S POEMS 

**I've wanderea from my home 
A pilgrim through the world alone 
I'm used to strangers' cheer, 
And dismal by-ways bleak and drear 
I've seen my share of strife, 
"- ' And now I'm longing for the sunset of life." 

He spoke in accents strange, 

While restless then did range 

His furtive glance from me away 

To where the sun shot down the bay ; 

Emblematic of his doom. 

As he sighed and sorrowed ff)r his tomb. 

Just then a group of school-boys 

Went by with merry noise ; 

Impulsive off I ran, 

All heedless of the aged man, 

Until the sport was o'er ; 

Then I retraced my steps once more, 

Back to that single stone. 
Where I left him sitting all alone ; 
Oh, God ! that ghastly sight ; 
Stark dead, in the fading light, 
Beside the stone he lay, 
With his spirit flown away. 

Help at my command 

Gave a ready hand ; 

So to my mother's mansion grand 

They bore the very clay, 

Which lately sat sighing for the close of day 

In that despondent lay. 



LONGING FOR THE SUNSET OF LIFE. 347 

Although a stranger there, 

Never did kindred claim more care ; 

Never was funeral costlier made, 

When the last sad rite was paid. 

As they placed him within our mother earth, 

That way-worn wanderer of foreign birth. 



348 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



I'M A WRITER AND A RHYMER. 

I 'm a writer and a rhymer, 

give me audience now ; 
I'll glad with song thy smile, 
At the step or at the stile, 
And light with life thy brow ; 
For I 'm the kind of a fellow 
That 's up to the fashion now. 

1 take with the girls and village churls, 
Although I 'm not a dude ; 

O, I can cut a swell 
That works the women well ; 
For I can beck and bow, 
And am the kind of a fellow 
That 's up to the fashion now. 

The ladies wink and the husbands think, 

As I pass them with a sigh, 

Sporting a gold-headed cane, 

Humming a tender love refrain ; 

For I can beck and bow, 

And am the kind of a fellow 

That 's up to the fashion now. 

I 'd have you know I am a beau, 
A judge of silks and satins fine ; 
O I think I ought to be, 
Oft they 've fiUed these arms of mine ; 



FM A WRITER AND A RHYMER. 349 

For I can beck and bow, 
And am the kind of a fellow 
That 's up to the fashion now. 

I 'm a writer and a rhymer, 
O give me audience now ; 
While love's garland I entwine, 
Of rose-leaves and eglantine, 
About some painted beauty's brow ; 
For I 'm the kind of a fellow 
That 's up to the fashion now. 



350 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



" PUT THE BABY IN THE CRADLE, MAUD." 

" Put the baby in the cradle, Maud, 
For its mother has gone home to God, 
And we mast bury her away 
Ere the sun glides down the bay ; 
For the savages behind the hill 
Have come to slay and kill, 
And we must into the forest farther go, 
To escape the wiles of this dreadful foe." 

These words were uttered by 

A trapper with bearded face and weeping eye, 

To his little daughter scarce past seven, 

With a radiance like the smile of heaven ; 

For the fever's terrible strife, 

Had taken away his worshiped wife, 

And the warriors of King Philip were 

Armed for vengeance and astir. 

On the warpath's bloody trail, 

Along the fragrant Mississippi vale. 

Ere agriculture's creating hand 

Had made a paradise of that blooming land, 

And given to fugitives of our race 

Freedom from cruel fetters base, 

That tyrants long have forged 

From poverty's toil on which they gorged. 

From the roots of a fallen tree, 
Ag secretly as it might be. 



'^PUT THE BABY IN THE CRADLE, MAUD:' 351 

They scooped the darksome mold, 

And in it laid the body cold. 

There was no time to read a line 

From the book of God divine ; 

So with the grieving spirit's flow 

He covered his wife with earth and snow ; 

Then taking his gun and babe along, 

He and Maud, they marched till another dawn, 

Away from the savage pack 

That followed on their track. 

Over the rough and stony land 

To the head-quarters of the trapping band, 

Who were some fifty miles away 

From where the body of his Julia lay. 

It was through many years 
The trapper, with forebodings, fears, 
Fought for Maud and baby there. 
With courage, skill, and care. 
Against the red man's waning power, 
Till victory crowned the hour ; 
Then he returned one evening cold 
And gathering up that sacred mold, 

Transported it in an urn of ebon hue 
To a ready grave beneath the shady yew, 
Which graced a church-yard's lawn, 
Where Christians put their kindred gone ; 
And baby grown to be a man, 
With Maud and children in the van, 
Oft repair with the trapper, feeble, slow, 
To deck that grave when the sun is low. 



352 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



MIGET OF NORTHUMBERMOUN. 

O ! THE prettiest girl in town, 
To speak the truth 1 11 be bound, 
Is Miget, with her scarf of down . 
With teeth like pearls, 
And sunny, silken curls, 
And eyes of hazel brown. 

O ! the prettiest girl in town 
Wears a Yorkshire shilling gown. 
And turban like a circus clown ; 
She has tiny little feet. 
And anldes fine and neat, 
And cheeks like softest down. 

O ! the prettiest girl in town, 

'Tis known for many miles around, 

Is Miget of Northumbermoun ; 

Her voice so clear 

Breaks on the ear 
Like the shrilly thunder sound. 

O ! the prettiest girl in town 

Takes all the fellows down 

With her gay turban crown. 
When she comes near me 
My heart beats fearfully, 

As if I'd heaven found. 



DE LAND OB GLORY. 353 



DE LAND OB GLORY. 

A NEGRO MELODY. 

Get'n up to glory sho, 
Rid'u on de rainbow ; 
Come long, niggers, come, 
To de land ob hebenly sun. 

Chorus. — get long dare, 
You child ob air, 
Climb dat gold'n stair 
Lead'n to de liebenly land, 
On Canaan's silber strand. 

O come long, niggers, come. 
See the glory ob de ris'n sun 
Sparkle on de trone ob gold, 
In de center ob de angel fold. 

Cho. — O get long dare, etc. 

Li de hebenly land we '11 see 
De glories ob de crystal sea, 
Eber flow'n glorious on. 
Thro' de lobly land ob song. 

Cho. — get long dare, etc. 

We'll see Moses dare, 
Rid'n in a charowit ob air ; 
Uncle Tom and Eva too, 
Fly'n thro' de ether blue. 

Cho. — O get long dare, etc. 
(30) 



354 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



And all dem angels bright, 
Crowu'd with hebenly light, 
Whirl'n round de trone 
Ob dat celestial home. 

Cho. — O get long dare, etc. 

And all de spirits white, 
Gone from de world ob night 
On pilgrimage supreme, 
Will be in dat hebenly beam. 

Cho. — O get long dare, etc- 

O den dis nigger '11 sing, 

And make de hills ob glory ring, 

Eber and foreber more, 

On dat hebenly, shin'n shore. 

Cho. — get long dare, etc. 



LOVE'S BANqVET. 



LOVE'S BAXQUET. 

CoiiE, hasten to my banquet, love, 
I '11 give thee precious wine, 

From the bowers of blLss above, 
Distilled by a Bacchus divine, 

And nightly brought by a Genii,* 
Adown the star-lit ether line, 

In a bright, golden urn from the sky, 
To Love's bower upon the Rhine. 

'Twill light thy soul with gladness, 
And thrill thy bosom with delight. 

And di'ive aw^ay all shades of sadness 
Eorever from thy laughing sight. 

Then come, my love, haste and go. 
Speeding thither fleet with me ; 

For the sun of life is getting low. 
Soon 't will set beneath the sea ; 

And then the falling frosts of night 
Will chill, with a freezing will. 

Thy beating bosom soft and white, 
In Death's cold sleep so very still. 

Haste thee, love, and let us then 
Go tripping gaily o'er the lea, 



*A tutelary deity, supposed by the ancients to preside over a person's 
destiny.— C. 



356 CAMPBELL'S ^PGEMS.- 

To Love's iDower ia a golden glen, 
Beneath the shady Tan-sein tree.* 

Life is wafted in every breeze ; 

And murmuring music in the air 
Floats through the moon-lit trees — 

Come, 't is time that we were there. 

The ready banquet now is spread, 
And the royal feast has just begun ; 

The god, Eros,t stands at the table head, 
And the guests will soon be done. 

For there stalks a grizzled shade 
Close round the sparkling wine, 

As though the feast for him was made — 
Ah ! 'tis the step of ancient Time. 

And see he whets his sickle keen 
Like some lusty mower on the lea ; 

In his eye there beams a ghastly sheen — 
Oh ! horiid shape that is to me. 

Bowed and bent by the weight of years. 
Which hang on his lengthened life ; 

But still he reaps 'mongst lover's tears, 
As if a curse impelled his strife. 

Oh ! slack thy speed and let us rest, 
For Love's bright banquet now is o'er ; 

Life's dim sun is setting in the west — 
We can scarcely see it shining more. 



* A kind of enchanted tree, which grows over the tomb of the mu- 
sician Tan-sein. — Moore. 
i-Eros; tlie love-god.— C. 



LOVE'S BANqUET. Zb'i 

And thus it is in continual round, 
Some bright and charming songstress 

Is calling us -svith heavenly sound, 
To Love's fan bower of happiness, 

Ere the ruby wine be gone, 

Wasted by the weight of years ; 

And the charming singer's song- 
Be hushed in the grief of tears. 



358 GAMFBLLLS FOEMS. 



CHEATING THE PREACHER. 

Some people blame their teacher, 
Some people act like Beecher, 
Some people beat their way 
From earth to the gates of day ; 
But he who cheats the preacher 
Out of a single dime, 
Will never get to Eden 
Where the immortals shine. 

Some people close their eyes, 
Startling earth and skies. 
With their pious prayers, 
Holding on to what is theirs ; 
But he who cheats the preacher, 
Out of a single dime, 
Will never get to Eden 
Where the immortals shine. 

Some people hymn their songs, 
Mingled with ' ' amen " longs, 
And quite a flurry make 
When they the communion take ; 
But he who cheats the preacher 
Out of a single dime, 
Will never get to Eden 
Where the immortals shine. 

Some ask our Lord to bless the food 
Which is wholesome, fair, and good. 



CHEATING THE PREACHER. 359 

And their sins to wash away, 
While in church they never pray ; 
But he who cheats the preacher 
Out of a single dime, 
Will never get to Eden 
Where the immortals shine. 



Many there are who say 

A penny to poverty given 's thrown away ; 

That we 'd better stand alool' 

Till the church shows better proof; 

But he who cheats the j)reacher 

Out of a single dime, 

Will never get to Eden 

Where the immortals shine. 

Many there are who dine 

In silks and satins fine, 

While the Shepherd stands in need 

Of the crumbs his hungry flock to feed ; 

But he who cheats the preacher 

Out of a single dime, 

Will never get to Eden 

Where the immortals shine. 

Many there are who be 
Self-righteous as the Pharisee, 
Standing amid light divine. 
Quite near the devil's boundary line ; 
But he who cheats the preacher 
Out of a single dime, 
Will never get to Eden 
Where the immortals shine. 



360 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

I think 't is best that we 

Give to the preacher an honest fee, 

For breaking to us the bread of life, 

Amid this mortal strife ; 

For he who cheats the preacher 

Out of a single dime, 

Will never get to Eden 

Where the immortals shine. 



WHAT I SAW AND HEARD. 361 



WHAT I SAW AND HEARD. 

Once I saw a wayside flower 

Broken in the wind ; 
Once I heard at the vesper hour 

The prayer of a child that sinned. 

Once I saw a widow's only son, 

Blushing with flaxen hair, 
Struck down by a rebel's gun, 

On Laural Hill so fair. 

Once I heard a lover's holy sigh 

Go floating on the breeze ; 
Once I saw a maiden die 

By drowning at "The Keys." 

Once I saw a priest of God, 

Profane, with guilty hands. 
The golden-sceptered rod 

Which round the "Ark of the Covenant " stands. 

Once I saw a witch upon the wold, 

All weird and woe-begone, 
Sitting at the side of a tonabstone cold, 

Writing her epitaph thereon. 

Once I heard, at the midnight chime. 

The bright, celestial choir, 
Singing a sainted symphony divine, 

To the melody of Israfel's ^ lyre. 



*Israfel: the ang-el Israfel, whose heart-strings are a lute, and who 
has the sweetest voice of all God's creatures.— Koran. 

(31) 



362 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

Once I saw two brothers dead, 
With hands clasped in sleep, 

Which were to the battle led, 
Where foe and foeman meet. 

Once I saw a fallen waif, 
Who had no place to go. 

Taken dead, but yet quite safe. 
From the river's darksome flow. 

Once I saw a man of crime. 
With hands upraised to heaven. 

Kneeling by St. Peter's shrine. 
Begging to be forgiven. 

Once I saw from the gibbet high 
A soul the Lord hud made. 

Three times swept off' to die, 
When the light began to fade. 

Once nine days in the darksome wood, 

Lost I went astray ; 
Wending alone through the solitude. 

Where wolves and tigers play. 

Once — but then, why should I repeat 
Further this rhyme to you ; 

For now you 're sound asleep, 
And 't is time that I was too. 



■'HQNEST TIM." 363 



"HONEST TIM." 

Pounding with a sledge, 
In the making of a wedge, 
" Honest Tim" at the anvil stands 
With broad and sinewy hands, 
Hard as iron bands ; 
Ever faithful working there, 
In the forge-fire's glare, 

Toiling for his kind, 
With hand as well as mind ; 
At the post of duty's call. 
Working there for one and all. 
From the Spring-time to the Eall, 
He spills his honest sweat 
Without a grumble or regret. 

His ringing bloAvs 

With the roll of labor goes 

Floating on the air, 

'Round about him there, 

In the noontide's glare ; 

And in the evening's twilight dim 

Works and labors " Honest Tim." 

Dark and glossy is his hair, 
And his face is very fair ; 
And something in his eye 
Seems akin to spirits in the sky. 
Which sometimes earthward fly ; 



364 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

But lie toils aud works away 
From morn till close of day. 

The smith's name is " Honest Tim"- 

Who does not remember him, 

With his word of cheer 

For the faint and feeble here, 

Who stand around full near, 

Waiting for fortune's gale 

To fill their drooping sail? 

And many a penny he 

Gives to worthy charity ; 

When the mighty million heir. 

With high and haughty stare, 

No farthing can he spare 

From his glittering pile, 

The moving curse of human guile. 

And often as I stray 
O'er some lone, untrodden way, 
The thought will come to me : 
" I would that I could see 
Some justice and equality. 
In the different lot of men. 
With my blinded human ken. 

*' One must ever toil 
For the product of the soil ; 
And the other with a fate 
Is born to lands and state, 
Aud honored as being great : 
'Tis unexplainable to me, 
This code of justice and. equality. 



"HONEST TIM." 365 

" The wortliiest God e'er made 
Labor a lifetime iu the shade, 
And no gilded fortune's beam 
Over their pathway gleam ; 
While some rich and I'oyal queen 
May waste her substance away 
On the meanest that ever saw day." 

Thus hath it ever been 

Among earth's big and little men ; 

'T is passing strange we must agree ; 

But then 't is fate's decree 

Between the beggar and royalty ; 

And one with blinded eye 

Into the secret must not pry ; 

For there is a God, we say, 
Who rules the night-time and the day ; 
And he doeth all things well 
Wherever there 's a voice to tell, 
From the heaven down to hell ; 
And censure from me perchance 
Might seem the height of arrogance. 



366 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



THE STOKMY PETREL. 

Ye winds of heaven blow, 

Moan out your madness and your woe ; 

Along the ocean's foamy crest, 

Many leagues from land. 

Upborne by genii or magician's wand, 

Walking or flying, as suits it best. 

The stormy petrel finds its rest. 

Out yonder, there where flash, 

With such vivid crash. 

The lightning's feai-ful gleam. 

And wild 'i\ aves roll mountain high 

Their whitened spray athwart the sky, 

Thou dost fearless seem, 

Calm, unruffled, and serene. 

Like a spirit fetterless and free 

From cumberous mortality, 

Along the perpendicular wall 

Of tempestuous waves, 

Which roll over ghastly graves. 

Thou dost rise and fall 

Where earth's bravest doth apj^all. 

Like a spirit given 

Boundless faith in heaven- 

Not like doubting Peter when he fell. 

Faltering on the foam, 

As though he walked aloue — 



THE STORMY PETREL. 361 

Dost thou escape the verge of hell, 
Thou little stormy petrel. 

Most wonderful bird, 

Thoa hast deeply stu-red 

Admiration in my soul ; 

For the King of all 

Marketh the sparrow's fall, 

And also the ocean's roll 

Beating on the doorway of destin/s goal. 

Thou hast taught to me 

A lesson from the Deity — 

From the God that reigns afar. 

Above the angry deep, 

And each high mountain peak. 

Where the bright immortals are, 

Crowned each with a golden star. 



368 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 



ISTULENA. 

Once I met a maiden fair — 
But it little matters 
When it was or where : 
Since then I've wandered on, 
And she has gone 
To a mansion in the air. 

She was the fairest flower 

That ever bloomed in lady's bower, 

Upon the mount or fell, 

In .the grass-grown glen, 

Or distant hazel dell. 

Oh ! had you seen her face 
Lighting up the darkest place, 
Like some brilliant ray 
Shed from an immortal wanderer 
Thro' the sun-beam's play, 
You'd have said she strayed 
From the golden gates away. 

Oh ! very many times 

I 've sung to her my rhymes. 

Walking on some island strand , 

While this maiden spread around me 

Bright beams of happiness 

From over the untried sea. 

Radiant she was, and rare, 
With a golden glory breaking 



NULENA. 359 

'Round her every-where. 
The gentle breeze's sighing, 
And the day to darkness dying, 
Was lighted by a halo fair. 
Which broke around her there. 

Now, she 's some transparent thing, 
Viewless, fair, and fine, 
Which cleaves with shining wing 
The distant ether line. 

Long years have flown 

Since Nulena and me 

Walked that island strand alone, 

'Neath the leafy beech wood tree ; 

But the vision fair 

Goes with me every-where 

Moving this soul of mine 

With those memories divine. 



370 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 



THREE ANGELS OF THE DAWN. 

Three angels of the dawn 

Went winging in the light away — 
Love with her golden slippers on, 

And Joy with a celestial ray 
Beaming round her radiant face, 

Greeted Hope with a merry bow. 
Who wore a turban in its place, 

With stars of jasper on her brow. 

In the flush of early morning, 

When the night had flown, 
As Aurora* finished her adorning, 

I wended on alone ; 
When these shining angels. 

Alighting near my path. 
Bathed their plumes in the rippling rills, 

And beckoned me with a laugh. 

Love threw a talisman on the ground, 

Inlaid with gems of Paradise : 
I picked it up and felt a wound, 

Which chilled my heart like ice. 
Then up the blue firmament she rose 

Wafting back a farewell sigh, 
To where the stream of Eden flows 

The throne of God close by. 



* Aurora: the Goddess of Morning.— W. 



THREE ANGELS OF THE DAWN. 371 

Joy spread a banner to the breeze, 

Which, in my fancy's fairy thought, 
Wafted me over silvery seas 

To a golden palace from a cot ; 
But when she raised her wings 

In seeming attitude to go, 
All my fond imaginings 

Vanished like the July snow. 

Then Hope my willing hand 

There did gently press, 
With a curious crystal wand, 

Which shadowed forth distress ; 
But an impulse at the time 

Thrilled me like a spell. 
Which seemed to be divine 

Or devilish, I couldn't teU; 

For the angels they were gone, 

And I lingered there alone, 
Through many a night and dawn, 

Carving my own gravestone, 
And trying to write some simple line 

Picturing forth the sight I saw. 
When these cherubs all divine 

ThriUed me with hope and awe. 

Since those fleeting years to me 

One or two would returning come ; 
But never again came the three 

At the morn or setting sun ; 
And short the stay they made ; 

For try as try I would 
That vision on the glade 

Did disturb my mood. 



372 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

So that I could n't entertain 

These visitors long below ; 
They'd raise their wings again, 

One and then another would speeding go, 
Till oft I almost deemed, 

These angels bright to me, 
Sometimes trifling seemed 

With my soul's deep mystery. 



THOSE KICKERS. 373 



THOSE KICKERS. 

Some people are kicking 
At this thing and that, 

With a vigorous vim 

Fit to burst a Sunday cravat. 

They seldom do right, 

And are never true ; 
They kick at their mother-in-law 

For entering the family pew. 

They kick if you laugh, 

They kick if you cry, 
And for looking at Susan 

With a sheepish eye. 

They kick when at home, 
And kick when abroad, 

If you love them less 
Than you do your God 

They kick when Ned 

Goes riding with the girls, 

Because their hair 's in a bob, 
Instead of shining curls. 

They kick when sick, 
They kick when about, 

They kick when dying, 

As the life-lamp flickers out. 



374 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

They kick if it 's too dry, 

They kick for the lack of rain, 

And kick when it rains too much. 
For 't will spoil their grain. 

They kick when it 's too hot 
They kick when it 's too cold ; 

And they 'd kick if enshrined 
In the heavenly Shepherd's fold. 

They kick when it 's clear, 
They kick when it snows. 

They kick when it's still, 

And just the same when it blows. 

They kick in December, 
And they kick in May ; 

They kick when it 's fine. 

Or when 't is cloudy and gray. 

They kick when they 're old, 
They kick when they 're young ; 

There are such chronic kickers 
They 'd kick at being hung. 

They kick through the day, 
And kick in the night, 

If the dear baby cries 
For a bit of bread to bite 

They kick if a button is off, 
And when too many is on ; 

In fact I may say kicking 
Is the burden of their song. 



THOSE KICKERS. 375 

They kick if a wife would vote, 

And give her ribs a chug ; 
Reminding her that " woman's sphere 

Is bounded by the washtub." 

That all her accomplishments, 

As well as her gifted plans, 
Was kindly bestowed that she 

Might " rattle the pots and pans." 

They'd have her an angel. 

And a household queen. 
And know how to dig in the garden, 

And "weed the parsnips clean." 

They want her to be feminine, 

Gentle, kind, and good ; 
They want her to feed the hens. 

And "chop the cooking wood." 

They want her to be a saint. 

They want her to be a slave. 
They want her to work herself to death, 

So they can " worship her in the grave." 

Oh ! mothers and maidens. 

With your celestial eyes. 
And saint-like, seraph souls. 

Fill your sphere beneath the skies. 

Shed sunshine in your homes. 

And do n't be chained down 
To the level of a brute 

By any clod-hopping clown. 



376 CAMIBELL'S POEMS. 

You are divinely-gifted, 

Far above any man, 
To cast light upon the earth. 

According to God's eternal plan. 

And no son of woman born. 

Be he less than man, 
Should seek to interfere 

With Heaven's stupendous plan. 



TEE TRAMP. 377 



THE TRAMP. 

Day by day begging for bread, 

Goes the tramp with tattered clothes, 

Without a place to lay his head, 
Xo matter how the wind blows. 

Tramping and trudging along, 
Softly humming now and then 

The fragment of a tender love-song, 

He wends his way among men. » 

Hungry, soul-sick, and sore, 

Friendless, pitiless, and lone, 
He begs from door to door 

With a voice that 's half a groan. 

Thro' Summer's scorching heat. 

And Winter s freezing cold, 
You may meet him in the street, 

Or on the hillside's wold. 

The star of hope he never hails. 
All earth seems di'ear to him, 

Whether loitering along sequestered vales. 
Or amid the city's busy din. 

At some grand mansion high. 

While meekly asking for bread, 

He meets the flash of an angry eye, 

Or the threatening footstep's tread. 
(32) 



378 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

The tramp forsaken, has no home, 
No kindly voice to bid him cheer ; 

It matters not where he may roam, 
No welcome message greets his ear. 

Speak kindly to the wandering tramp, 
And give him a morsel to eat ; 

For no love-lighted lamp 
Illumines his cold retreat. 

A mother's kind and loving voice 
Lingers yet gently on his ear ; 

Angel messengers bid him rejoice, 
While nearing the celestial sphere, 

Telling of a mansion grandly made. 

Where all the tramping hungry will be 

With crowns of gold arrayed. 

If they hold firm faith in the Deity. 

May not his soul from earth away 

Be cheered with as glorious a greeting 

As the lords who grandly bear sway 
From the angel the gate keeping? 

May not arise as happy a chorus 
From the redeemed tramps forever, 

While ages eternal roll o'er us, 
All gathered beyond the river ? 

Where no tramping will be done 
Along the city's golden ways. 

Beneath eternity's gleaming sun 
Falling in most resplendent rays ? 



THE DR UNKAED. 379 



THE DKUNKAED. 



NOTE. 

FThe facts narrated below occurred near North Adams, Mass., about 
the year 1S60, as I am credibly informed. But then this is only one 
blighted home— one heaven turned to hell— because of the use of in- 
toxicants— out of the maay which yearly become pandemoniums on 
the face of the earth's fair sphere.— C] 



One dismal night, in the silent past, 

When frozen sleet was falling fast, 

Out of a rum-shop staggered and rolled 

A husband and father into the night so cold ; 

Fearfully reeling beneath his load 

He wandered away from the road, 

While the fumes floAved. 

The outline of that man's shivering form 
Was unseen in the cold, pitiless storm, 
Save by the angels and the Eternal eye, 
Gazing down on him from the sky. 
Fashioned once in the image of God, 
But now below the brute that roams the sod. 
Downward going with a dying plod. 

The howlmg -winds of that Winter night 
Were bitter for a man to face and fight ; 
Piercing through his rags so thin 
They quickly chilled the heart within : 



380 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. • 

Freezing to death, out all alone. 
No one heard his dying moan. 
Save those around the throne. 

Where are they of the midnight revel, 
The boon companions of his level? 
Methinks they might have led him home. 
Or sheltered him till the sun shone : 
But no ! when his money was spent. 
He could n't pay the saloon's sleeping rent, 
So out into the night he went. 

Freezing to death with no friend to cheer, 
None to drive away the phantom of fear; 
Onward, still onward, he staggering goes, 
Little caring, and but little knows, 
The soul anguish other hearts will pour 
From a lonely, lone cabin door, 
Fatherless forever more. 

The storm grows worse, the night grows colder. 

The drunkard strives to struggle bolder ; 

'T is vain, life's fitful, flowing tide 

Ebbing to the eternal land, courage ill supplied ; 

Exhausted he fell into the drifting snow. 

From thence never again to staggering go, 

Cheered by the demons below. 

Oh ! look on him shelterless there. 
The wreck of a man, in youth so fair; 
Led from honor's paths by the flowing bowl, 
Hath missed life's bright-ending goal 
He sleeps the sleep of Death's last 
In a grim and icy clasp. 
Frozen to the ground fast. 



THE DRUNKARD. 381 

The last feeble, faltering, dying sigh 
Went floating upward to the sky ; 
And a saddened strain came gently back, 
As if angels sorrowed for that human wreck . 
Methinks they watched long the silent face, 
Wondering why mortal of man's j^roud race 
Should die in such disgrace. 

In yonder cabin, awaiting his return. 
Patiently sits a mother, a daughter, and son; 
Folded deep within the darkening gloom, 
Watching for his coming, ah ! bitter doom. 
Say, what must their thoughts be, 
Shivering there, those half-clad three. 
Longing the drunkard to see? 

Tick, tick, the time drags wearily by, 
Broken only by the faithful mother's sigh. 
Opening the door she peers into the night, 
Some strange dread makes her shiver with afright. 
She closes the door wishing she might her heart 
From the fears which cause her ever to start. 
Paining like a deadly-poisoned dart. 

Putting the children to bed on a tuft of straw, 

She wo'iders that miiu and liberty's law 

Permits the liquid messenger of death 

To mingle its fumes with the zephyr's breath ; 

Dealing desolation, causing woman's moans 

To flow in stifled, heart-broken groans, 

Till only death atones. 

Look at the children sleeping there, 

And the mother freezing in her chair ; 

True to him whom she loves with a love supreme. 

Waiting, watching, alone and unseen, 



382 GAMPBELVS POEMS. 

She falls asleep, never more to waken, 
Till the last trump the earth hath shaken, 
And the last dram 's been taken. 

Think of the father frozen out all alone, 

And the mother wrapped in death's shroud at home. 

Leaving the children to the care of the stranger. 

Surrounded by whirlpools of deadly danger ; 

Life's shoreless ocean alone to sail, 

Driven by its ever-changing gale 

Through sunshine and through hail. 

Go, rich man, with thy golden dower. 
And stay the demon. Rum, with its power; 
Turn aside the fiend which nightly stalks 
Through the city's most secluded walks — 
Oh ! stop his revel, if you can, 
• And thus give to fallen man 
The best boon since the world began. 



A nOWNF DELL. 383 



A DOWNY DELL. 

I KNOW a downy dell — 

Yes, I know it well — 

Where bright angels meet, 
From the shining street, 

The blue-eyed belle. 

'T is in the Old Bay State, 
Where oft of late 

I did repair 

To ponder there 
Of love and fate. 

It has a silvered spring, 

Which goes bubbling 
'N^eath the linden's limb, 
Where swans and plovers swim, 

And pewits sit and sing. 

And there 's a grassy bank 
Whereon the verdure daulr 

Much greener grows. 

And the rosebud blows 
With a fairer rank. 

Than on any lawn 

That graces the dawn 
From Dover town 
To the sun's going down, 

This broad earth upon. 



384 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

Once there fell 

Some heavenly spell 

Upon my enraptured soul, 
When for a noontide stroll 

I entered this dell ; 

For an angel stood 

In earthly mood, 

With a lily in her hand, 
Like naiad of the strand, 

Beside the path and wood, 

Whose fair perfume. 
And cheek of bloom. 

Thrilled my heart 

With a sudden start 
That wont be still in the tomb. 

Light as the fawn 
Was her step upon 

The bursting rosebuds there ; 

And the sweets of her lip I declare 
Out-rivals my song. 

But away with the spring, 
Like shadows that fling, 

Flown was our wooing ; 

For ' ' what are you doing ? " 
Into our ears did ring. 

And a fake,* with a spade. 
Dug a grave on the glade : 

And never with joy or with pain 

Did I see her again, 
Beneath the linden's shade. 



* Fake-fold— stratum of stone, space, contents, partition, division, 
row, etc.— W. 



HARRY HAYDON. 385 



HARRY HAYDON. 

On yester night, when the moon shone bright, 
And the stars gave forth a twinkling sheen, 

I strayed by the wayside willow, 
Near a rippling, running stream, 

Resplendent with a golden glow. 

The air was still, naught save the little rill 
Made any sort of murmur, mirth, or glee 

To disturb the silent reign, 
Which spread its wings so solemnly 

Over the wide-extended plain. 

Near my path, beside, half open wide, 
Beneath a beech tree's leafy shade, 

In rude and hurried haste. 
There I saw a grave new made 

Upon the lonely-looking waste. 

Some woodland ghoul, or assassin foul. 
Had dealt a horrid, hasty blow, 

With murderous motive there, 
Which laid young Harry Hay don low, 

Beneath the moonbeam's glare. 

Some bushes bent show'd bad intent, 
A club, a hasty knife, a stone 
Had done the fearful deed ; 

(83) 



386 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

Methought I heard the dead man groan 
When neighed his bridled steed, 

Which waiting stood tied in the wood, 
Impatient for his master's return : 

A seeming sort of loneliness 
Was all he could discern, 

When young Harry he did miss. 

"Cease thy brutish woe, dost thou not know 
Thy rider never more will wake, 

Till the muffled roll of Charon's bark 
Breaks on the celestial lake. 

Beyond the Stygian * river dark ? " 

There settled round, all sokmn and profound, 
A dreary sense of death so near, 

Amid the zephyrs softly breathiiig, 
Which seemed so sad and queer. 

As I lingered, silent grieving. 

Wakened from my trance, I skimmed the expanse 
Of moon-lit prairie stretching wide ; 

Mounted on murdered Harry's steed. 
To alarm the country side 

With tidings of the horrid deed. 

But the murderous news brought no clews 
Of the fiendish homicide : 

Long years they searched and sought. 
Through all the countiy wide. 

In every nook and spot ; 



* Stygian— fabled by the ancients to be a riyer of hell, over which 
the shades of the dead passed, on their journey thitherward.— C. 



HARR Y HA YD ON. 337 

But they never found the fiend or hound 
Who did that heUish thing : 

It seemed as if the heaven had 
Used its mighty wing 

To sweep him to the world of spirits bad. 



388 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 



THE WITCH OF HILDON HILL. 

Hist ! hark ! is that the thunder's sound 
So weirdly winging the hilltop round ? 
Or is it some wild mountain sprite 
Moling and doling this dismal night, 
Along some lonely, misshapen path 
Leading from Droxeldeen to Bath ? 

Nay ! nay ! 't is the Witch of Hildon Hill, 
Prompted by some infernal will 
To mutter her incantations there, 
From yon shelving crag of air 
To the spirits of the night and fell, 
More hideous than the fiends of hell. 

This weird and withered old crone 
Dwells in tlie mountain pass alone ; 
And never a night will she be still, 
This mysterious Witch of Hildon Hill ; 
But summons from the earth and air 
Unseen spirits to meet her there. 

And floating Rumor tells the tale. 

That sightless specters, sad and pale, 

Sit and sing through all the night, 

Round rows of candles burning blue and bright; 

Each said to be an expiring saint 

Condemned by the witch's foul attaint. 



THE WITCH OF HILDON HILL 389 

For a league she holds with the devil there, 
To esca]3e the death-angel's snare, 
A year for every saint that dies, 
Allured by her witchery from the skies; 
And to her aid he nightly brings 
The myriad hosts of wicked things. 

All travelers for their lives keep still 
As they pass the peak of Hildon Hill ; 
And no man of courage may be found 
Who will nearer go to her bound 
Than a hundred rods away. 
For love, for honor, or for pay. 

'T is asserted, that for two hundred years 

Three generations, filled with fears. 

Have heard this weird old witch's wail. 

And the saddened chorus borne upon the gale, 

When the sounding bells of heaven 

In the night-time strike eleven. 

What e'er the Witch of Hildon Hill 
May move the saints of God to kill, 
Sucn a worthless life to prolong. 
Haste not thou to judge her wrong; 
For Superstition, may have told 
This legend stronger than 't will hold 

And there is mysterious walkways 
Along which 't is said the spirit strays ; 
Where our reasoning will not move 
The solution of problems we disapprove ; * 
And 't would seem the better purpose still 
- To let God judge the Witch of Hildon Hill. 



590 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



LITTLE IDA FREEZING ALONE. 



NOTE. 

[The following lines are based upon a true incident which occurred 
in a mountainous region of Acadia, about the year 1855. The author 
was very young then, but old enough to remember distinctly the sad 
fate of the beautiful child. — C] 



A LITTLE girl, with ringlets of golden ligM, 

Wandered from home one freezing night ; 

The twinkling stars in serenest splendor shone ; 

Hushed and still was the wind's shrill moan. 

She followed a Avinding river strangely wild ; 

"I'll run to its end," lisped the laughing child, 

" And gather for my mamma pearls of brightest hue, 

With an icicle cup of sparlding rainbow dew." 

And she, with silken scarf of softest, spotted down, 
Tripped lightly o'er the cold and frozen ground. 
Storm-clouds in the dim east began to rise. 
Strangely then looked the cold, wintry skies. 
Away from the river she ran to the wooded dell. 
Step by step, from the parents who loved her well, 
Far into the depths of that wild, wilderness glen, 
With no human hand to guide her then. 

The night grew darker, and the wind blew drearer ; 
She folded her little hands to her beating bosom nearer, 



LITTLE IDA FREEZING ALONE. 391 

And shivered there as the saowflakes floated down ; 
Thinking of bright fires far off in the distant town, 
She came to a dark, damp house ; no ray of light or 

blaze 
From its gloomy walls fell on her bewildered gaze ; 
As her tiny hand clutched the cold, ivory knob 
In death's seeming stillness, she began to sob : 

" Please may I come in?" she whispered, in a faltering 

tone ; 
" Open the door, or I'll die to-night, out all alone." 
But no sound could she hear save the driving sleet, 
As it rattled and fell at hei frozen feet. 
With her bare hands she shook the heavy door, 
Moaning, " Let me lie down to die on your floor." 
But no stir within to still her startled fears 
While on the door-stone fell the falling tears. 

Ida left that heartless home and climbed the mountain 

way; 
She thought the hooting night-owl seemed to say : 
' ' Whither goest thou ? and why tread'st the wild alone ?" 
It seemed to her some company, e'en that startling tone. 
She found a tiny place where the wind had worn away 

the snow ; 
"Here I 'U sleep," murmured she, "and then I'll rise 

and go." 
She dreamed of fires so wondrous large and bright 
That they seemed to fill the sky with sudden light. 

Far away over the hills, before the break of day. 
Sorrowing ones were confused, and all astray ; 
Four score brave, athletic, mountain men 
Awoke the echoes of the strangely silent glen. 



392 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

A faithful search in every place was made ; 

But the snow had filled the tracks where Ida strayed ; 

No lingering star or faintly, feeble light 

Shone o'er her path to guide them right. 

Two days of ceaseless searching in every place 
Told not her doom, nor showed the slightest trace. 
Ida's mother, half frantic with mournful woe, 
Stumbled through the midnight mountain snow. 
She clasped her hands in awful frenzy wild, 
Praying God to " take her life, and spare her chUd." 
Methinks such soul-sorrow never ascended before, 
Wafted on seraph's wjngs thro' heaven's open door. 

Thou cruel man who heard her cry, and would not let 

her in, 
May God reward or punish you, according to your sin : 
You listened while she shook the heavy door, 
And heard her ask a place upon your floor. 
How you shuddered to think of the driving sleet, 
As her wailing cry rocked you to slumbers sweet. 
Her little breast was braving the pitiless storm. 
While you might have sheltered her freezing form. 

But listen to yon weather-beaten hunter's cry ; 
Its echoing tones have pierced the clear, cold sky. 
A little pink ribbon has been found by him, 
His hard face is changed as if it never knew sin. 
A score of others have heard that shrill scream ; 
Quickly, Ida's mother sprang upon the scene, 
Clutching strangely that faded memento of strife, 
That bit of ribbon as if it was a thing of life. 

With noiseless steps they formed around the place, 
Their mournful eyes beheld the still, cold face. 



LITTLE IDA FREEZING ALONE. 393 

The angel of death had flapped his wings around her 

heart, 
Wafting thi'o' the storm-cloud that tiny life-spark. 
There, amid the dismal, December dawn, 
Still and dead, lay the household swan ; 
A lingering halo of softest-floating light 
Played round her lips so cold and white. 

Methinks it was a ray from the angel's face, 

Who hovered o'er that last resting place ; 

Or, perchance, a gleam of the golden pen 

As it recorded her soul in heaven then. 

Sad, silent, and still, they stood with a softened look ; 

While the weeping mother the sleet from her yellow hau- 

shook. 
A low, sweet chorus on the sad winds fell, 
Wafting to the stricken mother, " God saith, it is well." 



594 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



MEMORIAL DAY. 

Come, ye comrades, one and all, 
Who escaped the leaden ball 
When death's carnage raged around, 
And the winds were laid with sound, 
Decorate the graves of the dead to-day 
With brightest blooms of May. 

Let the fragrance, rich and rare, 
Go wafting heavenward on the air, 
And the balmiest odors, mild and sweet, 
Greet angels on the golden street. 
As they bind Love's helmet now 
About the shriven warrior's brow. 

Bring the brightest buds of Spring, 
That bloom where nymphs and naiads sing, 
And sport on this terrestrial line. 
Where rays from the world eternal shine, 
With a soft, refulgent, glorious glow, 
Down on the soldiers' graves below. 

There, from the fairest mead. 
Bring now the brightest seed. 
Nurtured by the heart's best tide. 
When four hundred thousand died, 
For liberty, love, and God, 
On Columbia's consecrated sod. 



MEMORIAL DAT. 395 

J. 

Let tenderest maiden hands, 
In circling groups and bands, 
With face and features fair 
As seraphim of the air, 
Cast earth's brightest blooms 
Round the soldiers' honored tombs, 

Who raised the ready hand 

When Treason trod the land ; 

And lost their noble life 

In death's deadly strife, 

Which killed so many men 

In opening the slave's degrading pen. 

Who of earth may truly say, 

They hold not Memorial Day, 

Beyond the river's swell 

Where missing comrades dwell? 

For may not lilies fair 

Bloom in the fields of light up there, 

On love's luxuriant lawn ? 
And beneath the heavenly dawn 
May ther3 not be some recording pen 
Which tells them of the acts of men, 
As we scatter bud and bloom 
About each loved and honored tomb ? 



396 CAMPBELUS, POEMS. 



IVfANNY REAL. 

[A SONG.] 

Once upon the moon-lit moor, 
By Etrick's winding shore, 
Led by a gentle turtle-dove, 
I wandered in quest of love. 

Chorus. — 'Twas there I met my Nanny Real, 
My fancy's fair ideal. 
The touch of whose loving lips 
Tingled to my finger tips, 
And made my bosom strangely feel. 

Her soft, angelic hand 
My slender waist had spanned, 
Before the movements of my own 
Were about her bosom thrown. 

Cho. — ^'Twas there I met, etc. 

No one was standing near ; 
No father's angry foot to hear, 
Sounded in the heavenly spell. 
Which that instant o'er us fell. 

Cho. — 'T was there I met, etc. 

What care you to know 
The record of each moment's flow? 
Things are sometimes done at night 
That won't bear candle-light. 

Cho. — 'T was there I met, etc. 



NANNY REAL. 397 

'T is enough, no hap or harm 

Gave tidings of alarm, 

Till the fount of love all quiet lay, 

Without a ripple, in the moonbeam's ray. 

Cho. — 'T was there I met my Nanny Real, 
My fancy's fair ideal, 
The touch of whose loving lips 
Tingled to my finger-tips, 
And made my bosom strangely feel. 



398 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 



THE CELESTIAL DISCORD. 

Once the celestial choir, 

Led by Israfel's * lyre, 

Were singing some tune out of time, 

Some short-meter rhyme, 

That jarred on the breeze ; 

Blown from the amaranth bowers 

And asphodel flowers, 
Which affected the golden keys. 

'T was but a moment or two 
This discord rose on the view. 
Caused by some sinners that past 
The gate of St. Peter too fast, 
When a dozen or more. 
All in a great haste 
The joys of heaven to taste, 
Eushed in at the door. 

Quick the heralds of heaven, 

A hundred and seven, 

Winged with the speed of the wind, 

Turned out every sinner that sinned, 

And made the gateway secure. 

So that no one ever 

By fraud or endeavor. 
Thereafter went in but the pure. 



*Israfel— the sweetest-voiced angel of all God's singers.— C. 



THE CELESTIAL DISCORD. 399 

But the devils without 

Raised a big shout, 

When they heard the wrong note 

Over the gateway float ; 

And rallied their men 

From the marsh and the maze, 

And the brimstone blaze, 
To take possession of heaven again. 

So up in a body they went 

To the side of the high battlement; 

And thundered away at the wall 

Till the warriors celestial did fall 

Kight onto them there, 

And, without waiting to see 
What their alighting might be. 

Hurled them headlong from the golden stair. 

Around and around, without sound, 
Down they went whirling around, 
All mixed in a pile. 
Hate, Envy, and Guile — 
Down again to the lake, 

Where the brimstone on fire 

Only maddened their ire 
Their fists at heaven to shake. 

*r is said by a wight 
A mixture of man and of sprite — 
That never again to meet the Lord 
Did they listen for another discord ; 
For that one little bout. 

So sudden and strange. 

Headlong from the highest heaven to range, 
Subdued their wish to be fighting, no doubt. 



400 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

But they watch from afar 

The fields where the glorified are, 

With an envious eye, 

A howl, a curse, and a sigh. 

Venting their rage, their wrath, and their frowns 
On the unfortunate hosts 
Who visit those comfortless coasts 

From these earthly grounds. 

I think if the celestial switch 

Makes no slip or hitch, 

I '11 secure a ticket straight through 

For the fields of heavenly hue. 

And miss this warm mart, 
Although it's quite plain 
The translators have taken the flame 

Out of the lake on eternity's chart. 



SEEKING DEATH IN THE WOOD. 401 



SEEKING DEATH T^ THE WOOD. 

Weary, worn, discouraged, 
Battling with the ills of life, 

Goes forth a strong man, 
Whetting the suicidal knife. 

Mone, all alone in the gloom, 

The cricket and kraal * 
Sound to him like 

The devil's greeting hail. 

His mind is soi'e opj)ressed. 
And his bosom ill at ease ; 

Frightful specters dim 

From the eternal world he sees. 

Fearful fancies flit 

Across his bewildered brain. 
Horrid furies mock 

And fill his soul with pain. 

Many missteps he makes 

In the darkness all profound, 

Oft falling to the earth 

With a heavy, jarring sound. 

From thence uprising 
Again he ouAvard goes, 



* Kraal.— From the language of the Hottentots— a village, a collec- 
tion of huts, sometimes a single hut. — W. 

(3i) 



402 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

To a spot secluded 
From friend and foes. 

Knowing that soon, very soon, 

One sweep of the blade 
Will make an escape for his soul 

From its frame on the glade. 

Agony breaks from his broAV, 

His eyes grow dizzy and dim ; 
Specter shades go flitting past, 

And glare with devilish eyes at him. 

In the darkness he can hardly see ; 

But 't is the place at last. 
Where one well-directed blow 

Will his soul to the devil cast. 

His bosom is bared to the knife, 
His hand is upraised to strike ; 

But see the moon bursts forth, 
Gilding valley and dike. 

With beauty and splendor so fine, 
So brilliant, so clear and supreme. 

Like the flash of eternity's light. 

It startles the suicide from his dream. 

'T is not the place which he sought. 
But a churchyard silent and still ; 

With a ghost at the foot of each grave. 

His hand drops the knife in spite of his will. 

His bloodless lips move in prayer. 

Fright drives the imps of destruction away ; 



SEEKING DEATH IN THE WOOD. 4O-: 

He seeks refuge behind a new mound, 
To wait for the dawning of day. 

But fancies most frightful and vivid 

Flit swift through his braiu ; 
He feels his heart bursting 

With the thrill of each vein. 

So out of the churchyard he goes, 

Down through the meadow and brakes ; 

The way to anyone's home 
In haste, quick, he takes. 

Long, long years after that, 

He lived to do good ; 
And never went on a night ramble 

Again, Seeking Death in the Wood. 



404 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 



POCAHONTAS. 

Thou beauteous Indian Queen 

Of hunting lands unseen, 

Come, let thy departed shade 

Trip with me upon the glade, 

Where once thy living form 

Cast sunshine in the storm ; 

Where silvered rills of feliss 

Shadowed forth thy sprightliuess ; 

Where songsters of the wood 

Fluttered round, about for food, 

Scattered from thy ready hand 

Thou nymph and naiad of the strand. 

Come, cheer my Muse's lay 

With glory's gleaming ray ; 

Come, aid my simple rhyme. 

Thou heir of a " happy hunting clime." 

Come, and let us, hand in hand. 
Wander through the white man's land ; 
Where once thy fathers kept the chase 
Thro' gilded bower and Summer-place ; 
Where their unbridled steeds 
Cantered free o'er braes and meads, 
Snuffing the fragrant-ladened gale, 
From Susquehanna's flowery vale 
To the Pacific's rock-bound shore, 
Affleam with golden ore. 



POCAHONTAS. 405 

Come, and trip with me again 
Along that fairy island plain, 
Where thy early Spring-time day 
Was passed in mimic play. 
Till a maiden thou had'st grown, 
Within thy simple Indian home ; 
Acting then a living part 
In this nation's throbbing heart, 
Which ever shall remain, 
Entwined in our historic name. 
The brightest jewel in our crown, 
By thy dark hand of brown 
Placed there, when a feeble band 
Pre-empted Libert/s land, 
In the mists of that early morn 
When our own Columbia was born. 

Captain Smith, in days of old, 
As the storj^ has been told. 
Thou did'st rescue from the hate 
Of thy fathers, bold and great, 
When their war-like council read : 
" From his body a severed head 
Shall on earth a witness be 
For all the white man's deviltry." 

Round the great chief's throne 
They gathered, to hear him groan 
Out that sick and dismal moan, 
When soul and body part 
For the unknown hunting mart. 

The headstone was ready laid 
On the green and bloodless glade, 



406 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

The horrid club upraised, 

While all in breathless silence gazed, 

To see it descending dash away 

From that courageous clay, 

The life-stream's ebbing flow, 

In those days of long ago. 

Then there rose a yell, 
On the startled ear it fell, 
In that moment critical, 
Throughout the Indian citadel : 
Thy slender, flitting form. 
Like Genii * of the storm. 
Passed like an angel's gleam, 
Rushing wildly between 
The victim lying low 
And the dread descending blow. 

Prostrate, kneeling there. 
With disheveled hair, 
And loving eyes aflame, 
Thou didst call on the chief's name, 
With all the ardor of thy soul. 
Pouring pity's passionate dole. 
Which moved those warriors brave. 
Like kindred weeping at the grave. 

Powhatan, turning then. 
Gazed on his war-like men, 
In speechless silence, to see 
Their wish in that extremity ; 
With grief-stricken pride 
They rushed to thy heroic side, 



*Genii — the animating spirit of a period. —C. 



POCAHONTAS. 407 

Moved by pity's ebbing flow. 
To release and let him go. 

For life preserved he faltered thanks, 
Kneeling on the river's wooded banks; 
Meanwhile, Oh ! gentle maid ! 
Thou wert queen of the parade, 
And worshiped as a fairy form, 
Born of sunshine and storm 
To drive the thunder's sound 
From "the happy hunting ground" — 
And thus in sport and play 
They passed the remaining day. 



408 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



A SUKEY AND A SUKEYIST. 

Once a Sukey and a Sukeyist, 

Two children of the mist, 

Fell a-talking what to do ; 

So the Sukey said, "I'll marry you." 

The Sukeyist made reply, "If I could, 

I really know I would ; 

But there is my dear mamma 

And my awful, frowning pa. 

"Oh! dear Sukey, could n't we 
Eevel in love's delightful witchery ? 
If it was n't for the folks at home. 
We 'd eat ice cream and drink sea-foam ; 

. "And I know that we could be 

Like two turtle doves in a locust tree ; 

Sweet as the gentle zephyr's bi-eath. 

Blown over the land where love wandereth." 

' The old folks be hanged ; 
Go get your hair banged ; 
I'll buy a ball and gun, 
And they'll be mum, mum, mum. 

We '11 find a holy priest, 

And stick to each other like yeast. 

Oh ! my dear Sukeyist, 

How much of life we 've miss'd, 



A SUKE7 AND A SUKEFIST. 499 

"That we didn't ten yeai's ago, 
'Neath the end of the rainbow, 
Build us a ciystal shi-ine, 
And sip naught else but Love's delicious wine." 

Just then the voice of an ancient crone, ' 
And a grumbled, growled-out groan 
From those who held command there, 
FeU on the ears of this loving pair. 

One tender word the Sukey said. 
And shook as if his grave was made ; 
WhUe the Sukeyist fainting, fair, 
Carried him to her Grod in prayer. 

But the bull-dog and the nines 
Made music in the pines, 
As the Sukey and the father flew 
In that waltz so strange and new. 

His Sunday coat was gone. 
As he ran the shrubs and bushes among ; 
The dog had pulled the pants aside. 
While the nines were tanning the hide. 

This tender, loving word. 
Borne on the gale he heard : 
"Oh ! my dear Sukey, my dear Sukey, 
When papa's done, come Lack to me." 

"Never a come, come, come, 
For I 'm quite undone, done, done ; 
O, O, O, this is an ending test, 
So good-bye, my long, lost Sukeyist." 
(^5) 



410 



CAMPBELLS POEMS. 



DEATH IS COMING. 

Death is coining, coming ; 

Do n't you hear him yonder there, 

Stealing softly through the air. 

Just to catch you unaware, 

While the sands of life are running ? 

Death is marching now along 
To wailings deep, and song. 
Wrung from victims felled in May : 
E'en the fluttermg heart may not say 
When he '11 come or on what day. 

Death is coming, coming ; 

Can 't you hear him now, 

In the distance humming? 

Soon to him you '11 bow. 

With the death-damp on your brow. 

This robber-thief you may detest, 
For he can chill the warmest breast, 
And freeze it long for rest : 
None ever did escape his view ; 
Then how may'st you ? 

Do you ever stop to think 
Of the pain and sorrow 
You will taste and drink 
On some to-morrow, 
No matter how you shrink ? 



DEATH IS COMING. 



411 



In that soul eclipse, 

With eyes grown blinder, 

You 'U wish your freezing lips 

Had to others sjjoken kinder, 

When life's current leaves }'our finger-tips. 

Ah ! then 't will be too late ; 

You must, submissive, bow to Fate, 

As the clasp of Death forever more 

Binds your bosom's core, 

And you touch the unknown shore. 

Can 't you see Death yonder there ? 

He is stealthy coming, 

And will clutch you unaware 

And throw you in the tarn of dark despair, 

As he goes running every-where. 

Then mortal have a caution, 
Have a care ; 
Sin's dark windings shun 
For a mansion in the air. 
Lest he clutch you unaware. 



412 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



DOWN TO THE RIVEE OF WOE. 

And so, ho, ho, 

Down to the river of woe 

We go, you know, 

Marching in a row ; 

Ever hasting on. 

Through darkness and through dawn, 

To the never-ending morrow morn, 

Which breaks upon the sea. 

Where wider grows the range 

And circles strange 

Of dim futurity. 

Where the measured chime 

Of the stroke of time 

Will ring through your life and mine, 

In the lake of death, 

Or the land sublime, 

Where wandereth peris all divine, 

.Or devils doomed for crime. 

Through the weary chime. 

And unending rhyme, 

Of eternal time. 

The river of woe. 
Glows golden below. 
Where treasure hath lain, 
Gained from the slain. 
For these ages O, 
Down under its flow. 



DOWN TO THE RIVER OF WOE. 413 

Far fathoms below — 
The line where divers go, 
Or boatmen row, 
And never come back 
On its watery track ; 
For alas ! alack ! 
The devil, you know, 
Commands all the region below- 
Then say me a say. 
Will ever a day 
Come silent or mum. 
When we won't run. 
Round ^\ith the sun. 
All in a row. 
Marching, you know, 
Thus and so, 
Down to the river of woe ? 

"Will the river run dry, 
When up in the sky 
All creation will sing : 
" Glory to God in the highest, 
Hallelujah, our King ? " 
And the death-reaping sickle of time 
Finds no more grain in its prime, 
To dim the fair shine 
With the blood-red wine 
Earth's demons of crime 
Brew out of your life and mine, 
That the mills of creation may run 
Round with the sun, 
Till the last of the brewing is done? 



414 ' CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

No, no, do n't speak too low, 

For Pluto,* our foe, 

May think that we know 

How to hinder the flow 

Of the river of woe, 

Which bears to his strand 

The worst of our land, 

And let loose his shades 

On our lawns and our glades, 

On the face of our day. 

To mar and to char 

With a river that burns, 

And eternally runs 

Into the wondrous mists away. 



^ 



* Pluto— the god of the lower world.— C. 



BILLY 0. BANE. 415 



BILLY 0. BANE. 

[a song.] 

Oh ! Billy 0. Bane ! Billy 0. Bane ! ' 

Will ye leave me now, 
To sail the salt sea main, 

After the marriage vow 
Has been spoken by us twain ? 

Chorus. — Would you go a reckless rover, 
From out the roads * of Dover, 
To sail the wide world over, 
And leave me here in pain ? 

Oh ! Billy 0. Bane ! Billy O. Bane 
Stay away from the angry wave, 

Stay here with your darling Jane ; 
For many a lover's grave 

Is thereunder deeply lain. 

Cho. — Would you go a reckless rover, etc. 

Oh ! Billy O. Bane ! Billy O. Bane ! 

You 've gone and left me. 
Standing here insane ; 

For through the mirror of the sea 
Flashes back your funeral train. 

Cho. — Because you went a reckless rover, etc. 



* Roads— PI aoes where ships may ride, safely at anchorage, some 
distance from the shore.— C. 



416 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

Oh! Billy O. Bane ! BUly O. Bane! 

Send me your spirit back 
From the heavenly plain, 

Before I die alack 
Our meeting joys to gain 

Cho. — For there no reckless rover, 

From out the roads of Dover, 
Will go rambling that region over, 
Throughout the ages again. 



WHAT ARE THE ANGELS DOING? 417 



WHAT AKE THE ANGELS DOING? 

What are the angels doing 

In the courts of heaven to-night? 
Are any of them napj)ing or wooing 

Under the haze of a half-lit light ? 
Why should I such a question ask ? 

For the reason it 's Sunday, you know, 
And the whole of this day's task 

Has been spent in pleasing a beau. 
The air is so sinless and mild, 

So very translucent and more, 
It seems as if lovers celestial had smiled 

All day on my head from the door. 

But why talk of night. 

In that land where the beautiful be ? 
There is n't a shade or a fright 

That ever hath entered that fair country, 
And the angels are always in love, 

Always a wooing and never know ruing, 
In yon bright world above ; 

So that is enough to be doing 
In those shady, amaranth boAvers, 

Where the gods of the kingdom are free. 
There to linger foi hours 

Without knowing love's satiety. 

What better could the angels be doing. 
After the heavenly anthem 's sung ? 

For in that land is no stewing. 
Or lashings of an endless tongue ; 



418 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

And the leaves on the trees, 

And the laughing ripples so fair, 
Perfume the light, waving breeze 

With odors aromatic there ; 
So that love is a law, 

Which all there obey, 
Without fear or awe 

Of Cupid's coming that way, 

To wound with a dart, 

A glance or a lance. 
The enraptured heart. 

Under the broad dome's expanse ; 
And loves in that land 

May always run on. 
Without a dark-plotting band 

Bringing disappointments along ; 
Or a devil that takes 

Much delight in his skill, 
Counting the hearts that he breaks 

By artfully crossing the will. 

If in heaven there 's no wooing, 

No meeting of lovers again. 
The endless rhyme's undoing 

Will bring a wearisome jDain ; 
For the best of this. 

And the nearest like Eden, 
Is the true lover's bliss. 

When he has love to feed on. 
So I think you cau see, 

By the wink of an eye, 
That some angels there be. 

Who are loving on high. 



ANCIENT TIME. 419 



AIs^CIElST TBIE. 

I GAZED into the ocean deeps, 

As I thought of Ancient Time 
And the harvests that he reaps, 

With haggard look benign 
And sadly silvered brow, 

Gilt with the gold of ages, 
Which departing spirits disavow, 

When death's tempest rages. 

I looked into the grave, 

So dismal, dark, and cold, 
Where worms riot and lave 

In the last of the human mold ; 
And a sense of awful awe 

Went thrilling through me sti*ange, 
As I witnessed Nature's law 

Slowly going through its change. 

I looked into the moon. 

Glimmering so silent and so still, 
Thereby hoping to find a boon 

For the boding of some HI ; 
But its mountains torn away 

Silent gleamed as sentinels grand, 
And brought me no allay 

From the shores of the spirit land. 

I looked into the night 
Far as man may look, 



420 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

And there I saw a fearful sight 
Which all my being shook • 

Grim Death was leading there 
A gentle child and man ; 

With chary step and care, 
He peered on every hand, 

As if some horrid work 

Was quickly to be done. 
I saw his bloody dirk 

Stream darkling in the sun ; 
While Ancient Time 

Mysteriously did stand, 
With voice and gesture benign, 

Giving high command : 

' ' Lay this child away, 

Deep within the mold ; 
Haste thee, find another fay, 

Ere the judgment bell be tolled : 
For I would gather them in 

When the morn is bright and clear, 
Away from byways and sin, 

Into the heavenly atmosj)here. 

"I've looked on many a form, . 
Struck down by hand of you. 
Amid the battle's storm 

And sorrowing kindred too ; 
My locks are gray with age. 

My step is feeble, slow. 
I 've journeyed long on pilgrimage, 
^Through mirth and woe. 



ANCIENT TIME. 421 

" Sometimes, on my silent rounds, 

Unfurled, my wings of light 
Sweep through those Eden grounds, 

So heavenly, pure, and bright. 
Where I behold the many men, 

I've gathered, gone to God, 
From each nook and glen, 

As round the earth I 've trod, 

" Singing childhood's prattle toa 

Cheers the distant scene, 
Where bower and grotto's hue, 

With seraphic splendors gleam, 
Radiant as some Northern light, 

Where heavenly heralds stand, 
On their earthward flight, 

To execute God's command. 

"I'm longing for my task to end. 

In trudging here below. 
That the golden stair I may ascend, 

Were earth's best mortals go : 
That I may fill with cheer 

Those I took in pain, 
From kindred weeping here, 

'Round the world's domain." 



422 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 



THE BEAES O' BRAXTED. 

[A SONG.] 

On the Braes O' Braxted, 
The morning after she was wed, 
Stood the fair-faced Maiy Moore, 
With sorrow at her bosom's core. 

Chorus. — Braxted, Braxted, 

On the Braes 0' Braxted. 

For her absent lover, dead 
Since seven long years sped. 
Had come home once more, 
To Scotland's sunny shore. 

Cho. — Braxted, Braxted, 

On the Bi'aes O' Braxted. 

He, the worshiped idol, fed 

Her soul's love as the years fled ; 

But when Jimmy Jansing came no more, 

She had taken Tommy Grower. 

Cho. — Braxted, Braxted, 

On the Braes O' Braxted. 

Scarce the bridal wreath upon her head, 
And the words of marriage said. 
When Jimmy burst within the door 
And claimed her his forever more. 

Cho. — Braxted, Braxted, 

On the Braes 0' Braxted. 



THE BRAES 0' BRAXTED. 423 

And now she goes the way that led 
To the beetling cleff where many dead 
Had given up the ghost before 
For blighted love in the days of yore. 

Cho. — Braxted, Braxted, 

On the Braes 0' Braxted. 

Upon her bones the wolves had fed, 

Weeks before her lovers knew that she was dead ; 

And now they mourn, with bosoms sore. 

For the lips they shall press never more. 

Cho. — Braxted, Braxted, 

On the Braes O' Braxted. 



424 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



WITHIN THOSE REBEL PRISON-PEKS. 

WiTHm those rebel prison-pens, 
Through the day-time and the night, 
In darksome tarns and wooded glens, 
Stalk phantoms of affright — 
Ghosts of the heartless crew 
Who literally starved to death — 
Brave Northern boys in blue. 

In those fated days gone by, 

When War waived her wing. 

Many comrades fell to die, 

Wounded more fatal than the bullet's sting, 

When the heralds of dismay 

Led our loyal, Union men 

Into the camps of the gray, 

And to the loathsome prison-pen, 

In December and in May. 

Grim goblins of despair 
Stood round-about them there, 
With hearts like adamant. 
On wicked purpose bent ; 
As if it brought delight 
To torture the immortal soul 
With visions of affright, 
All dreadful to be seen, 
Flitting through the coming goal 
By the light eternal's gleam. 



WITHIN THOSE REBEL PRISON-PENS. 425 

Their pale and fleshless hands, 

In ghostly rows and bands, 

Still remain, poiniing now 

To where manhood was made to bow 

Beneath the heavy heel 

Of those misguided men. 

Who had no hearts to feel. 

Their dreadful suffering past. 

Their silent requiem sung, 

Yet somehow on the blast, 

Their moans continual run 

Round our ears with each receding sun. 

Mournful widows stand, 
Pointing from every land, 
With trembling hand. 
At those fated hells 
In southern dells, 
Where sad memory dwells. 

Disgrace is written on the ground, 
Is echoed by the thunder's sound, 
And whispered in the blast 
Of crimes and carnage past ; 
But soon is coming on 
The breaking judgment dawn, 
Where those leaders three 
Are sure to be 
Labeled for the sulphur sea, 
Forever and eternally. 
(36) 



426 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



A KISS. 

"A KISS from lips like this 
Is the supremest bliss 
Man meets with here below, 
In Jul/s prime or December's snow. 

" 'T is sweeter than the dew 
Which the honey-bees chew, 
Culled from the floweret's hem . 
In all the walks of men. 

"And if a taste of heaven 
Is to mortals given, 
'T is when loving lips 
This bewitching nectar sips. 

"Then, lovely lady, may 
I take another kiss to-day. 
In forgiveness of the one I stole, 
As a peace-offering to my soul ? " 

"Yes, my dearest, yes. 
If stolen kisses bless ; 
Make free to take your share, 
While love is lingering there. 

"But are you very sure, 
After contemplation, demure, 
That kisses given away 
Are as sweet as those that stay ? 



A KISS. 427 

" That from unguarded lips, 
As sweet a something slips, 
As when, by wanton accident, 
You filch with foul intent ? 

" If you are my dear, 
A thousand kisses linger here, 
Which many never get, 
Because of two much etiquette." 



428 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



ELINA. 

In a shady grove, by the river side, 
In the soft twilight of eventide, 
In the hush of Love's divinest hour, 
Sat fair Elina in a bower, 
Waiting for her Walter then, 
A leader in the ranks of men. 

The myrtle and the eglantine 
Their fragile folds entwine 
With mutual interlace. 
Beautifying all the rustic place, 
Like some garden famed of old, 
Tipped with amber shine 
And ribbed with roofs of gold. 

In such a place did Elina sit. 
Where the varied shade and sheen 
Of the floating shadows seemed to flit 
With a sort of somber gleam, 
Briffht as auv Northern lijht, 
Or falling meteor's beam, 
Tinting: tree on knoll or lea 
With the glinting glow of witchery, 

Walter 's at her side, 
The rapturous greeting 
Floated far and wide. 
Like two exiles meeting 
Where all their kindred died. 



ELINA. 429 

They talked of hate and joy, 
They talked of peace and bliss, 
They talked of love Avithout alloy, 
Cemented by a seraph kiss. 

Long they sat and sipped 

From Love's golden chalice, 

That had been deeply dipped 

In the fount of gladness. 

Which hath driven many souls to madness. 

But gone is Walter now : 

There pines a lonely maid, 

With disheveled hau' upon her brow, 

Lingering round the wooded glade. 

The grove is dark as shadows are, 

The moon hath veiled her light. 

There is no single star 

To cast one glimmering ray 

On the place of Love's delight. 

Some brooding gloom, 

Or shadow of the tomb, 

Hath spread a sable wing 

Over the dim dominions of its king, 

Where Love's bright minions 

Wafted their glittering pinions 

In ecstasy supreme. 

'Tis enough, Walter died 
While on the stormy sea. 
And was buried beneath the tide 
From off the starboard lee ; 
But still his angel waits him 
Around that forest dim, 



430 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

Thinking that his belated sprite 

Will in raptures meet her 

On heaven's eternal height, 

If she guards their trysting place at night. 



BROODING OVER FALLEN GREATNESS. 431 



BEOODING OVER FALLEN GREATNESS. 



NOTE. 

[On November 12, 1885, Tyler Post No. 50, G. A. R., of Hartford, Con- 
necticut, invited ex-Senator Conkling to deliver an address on Gen- 
eral Grant. No reply was received to tlie invitation, and on December 
21, a reminder was sent to Mr. Conkling, which brought the reply from 
him by letter the next day, that the delay was due to his numerous 
business engagements, and was not caused by want of appreciation 
and respect. He continues: "On the contrary, ( make it an excep- 
tion to all others received for a long time, since retiring wholly from 
political and public life, all invitations and proposal.^ to deliver ad- 
dresses or lectures have been alike promptly declined, even those 
suggesting an address in regard to General Grant, much as I esteem 
him and cherish his memory. When your letter came, I hesitated, to 
see whether I might not manage to say yes. Despite my strong incli- 
nation, I find that it is not possible to find leisure for the preparation, 
without which it would be respectful neither to the people of Hart- 
ford, nor to the great memory concerned, to attempt any discourse or 
statement on such an occasion 

"Cordially, your obedient servant, 

"ROSCOE CONKLING." 

P. S.— The above was published in the Kansas City Journal, Decem- 
ber 28, 1885— C] 



Conkling, once the star, 

Shown from the constellation where 
All the bright immortals are. 
So radiant and so fair ; 

But now, like fallen greatness, 
Death-doomed and elateless, 
He broods in his despair. 

Sad it is to see 

A soul thus finely made, 



432 CAMPBELL'S POEMS, 

Like a fallen deity, 

Grow weary in life's parade, 

And brood over fallen greatness. 
Death-doomed and elateless, 
Till the hues of heaven fade. 

Ah ! vain, vain excuse — 

For the want of time 
He can make of words no use, 

By the side of Grant's bright shrine ; 
But will brood in fallen greatness, 
Death-doomed and elateless. 
Till life's last chime ^ 

Holding with his soul 

A blasting colloquy, 
Ever as the seasons roll, 

For the mere mistake of a day , 
Brooding over fallen greatness, 
Death-doomed and elateless, 
As life's sands go running away. 

No, no, rather stand 

Thou immortal Master, 
In this favored laud, 

The firmer and the faster, 

And subdue this brooding greatness. 
Death-doomed and elateless. 
With the word of thy command. 

For 'tis criminal to hide 

Such a shining light 
Beneath the measure of wounded pride, 

In thy manhood's might, 



BROODING OVER FALLEN GREATNESS. 433 

And brood over fallen greatness, 
Death-doomed and elateless, 
Till Charon* ferries thee from our sight. 

Then show to the hounds, 

Who would control thy treasure 
Within such meager bounds, 

The height" of thy manhood's measure; 
And cease to brood over fallen greatness, 
Death-doomed and elateless. 
While yet there is " leisure." 

For 't will light thy bark. 

Into the vast beyond. 
With a brighter spark. 

If thou art thus forewarned ; 

And cease to brood over fallen greatnesSj 
Death-doomed and elateless, 
When thou steppest into' the dark. 

And upon thy passage-way 

Shining ones will be, 
Casting a celestial ray 

To guide thee to the Deity, 

Into the courts of heavenly greatness, 
Where no one grows elateless, 
It matters not what his ffifts mav be. 



* Charon— the son of Erebus and Nox, who ferried the souls of th^ 
dead over the rivers Acheron and Styx to Hades.— (?reefc and Roman 
mythology. 

(37) 



434 CAMPBELUS POEMS. 



A MYSTIC MAN. 

Upon the margin of a lal^e, 

In a far-off distant land, 
An evening walk I oft would take, 

Counting the pebbles on the strand. 
Simply for my fancy's sake, 

With a pencil in my hand. 

One moonlight evening fine, 
Whilst whiling the time awa}- 
. With this accustomed walk of mine^ 
A bright, illumined ray 

Revealed a shape, else than divine, 
Walking beside my way. 

" Stranger," said the shade, 
' ' Linger where you are, 
And be ye not afraid ; 

For by the light of yonder star 
Earth's kings are made, 

And mortality's movements mar." 

He pointed to the lake, 

Whose wavelets tranquil stay ; 

But the mirage made me quake. 
For I saw the gates of day ; 

And Hades, with its agony great, 
Before my vision lay. 



A MYSTIC MAN. 435 

The lake reflected there 

Heaven's bright boundery, 
With domes aud minarets fair ; 

And beautiful angels free 
Sped thro' the boundless air, 

Into the deep of eternity. 

By some magic strange, 

And mystery I may not tell, 
The scene did instant change, 

From heaven to hell, 
Like the grooves of eternity's range. 

Beyond where maids or matrons dwell. 

Misery's haggard face 

Shone on my view ; 
While the devils round did chase 

Some fallen victim new, 
About that dreadfvd place, 

Where brimstone burneth blue. 

Again he spake to me : 
" Oh ! see that thou 
Escape this region free ; 

For the devil holds it now 
Under a conditioned fee. 

By consent of God somehow. 

"And all who there, 
Neath yonder pyre. 
Fall victims unaware, 

Burn with endless fire, 
In the tarn of dark despair, 
Under the devil's u-e. 



43G CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

" Then let your wayward feet 
Pursue the uarrow liue, 

Upward to the goldeu street, 

Where the saiuts of God sublime 

In joy and pleasure meet, 
On the hill of life divine." 

He vanished as he came, 
Amid the lightniug's shine. 

Without one word or name 
To aid me in my rhyme ; 

And I away the same. 
Thro' the soft moonshine. 

I never saw that scene again, 
Or the shade of mystic hue ; 

I know not his name, 
So I can not give it you ; 

But he thrilled my very frame, 
As he passed beyond my view. 



WIDO]V WILDAMEARS WEDDING. 437 



WIDOW WILDAMEAR'S WEDDING. 

[A SONG.J 

She was fat, she was forty, 

She was proud, she was haughty ; 

He was rare, he was racy, 

Was this Benjamin Tracy : 

So they fell in love. 

Regardless of the journey above, 

And were married by the priest. 

Chorus. — Oh! this wedding feast. 
Was the rarest ever held, 
Where any people dwelled, 
In the way down east 

The wine it was red, 

And went to the head ; 

The flounces they were fine, 

Of softest crinoline ; 

And allured the sparkling eyes, 

To throw oif the soul's disguise 

For this one night at least. 

Cho. — Oh ! this wedding feast, etc. 

The highest crowns of all 
Took a step in the ball : 
There husbands and wives. 
For the most of their lives. 



438 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

Who hadn't kissed, 

Saw what they had missed, 

And stuck to each other like yeast. 

Cho. — Oh ! this wedding feast, etc. 

It was half-past eleven 

Before the wedded found their heaven, 

Behind curtains soft, 

In the bridal bed aloft ; 

But I was n't there, 

Nearer than the foot of the stair, 

So from telling I'm releast. 

Cho. — Oh ! this wedding feast, etc. 

But they lived to be 

The happiest cou2:)le on the lea ; 

With children half a score. 

And several born before. 

Made a sort of heaven there, 

'Round a palace grand and fair. 

Which was a home for man and beast. 

Cho. — -Oh ! this wedding feast, 
Was the rarest ever held. 
Where any people dwelled, 
In the way down east. 



A PENNYWORTH OF PARADISE. 439 



A PENNYWORTH OF PAKADISE. 

Foe a sort of show, 
Some folks to meeting go, 
All prinked with fixups rare ; 
They bow the head in prayer. 
They sing the psalms of praise, 
And see around the preacher's chair 
A kind of miraculous haze, 
Which, in these latter days. 
The worldly-minded never see, 
For the lack of holy purity. 

And when the box is past around 

Their money rattles with a sound ; 

But never more than a dime, 

Or a penny at a time, 

Will they throw into the box. 

No matter about the object benign. 

Or how glib the preacher talks, 

The old keeper, Conscience, locks 

The lids of their pocket-book tight. 

Standing in the rays of the celestial light. 

They hold a heavenly inheritance 
Beyond the wide expanse 
Of Nature's nnfoldings free. 
Which in their imagination they see ; 
Where golden walkways lie. 
Shining all brilliant and supernally, 
Inviting them to the sky. 
But when they come to die 



440 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

They '11 be astonished twice, 

For all they hold is a pennyworth of paradise. 

A pennyworth of heaven 

Is all that 's ever given 

To a penurious heart ; 

It little matters who thou art, 

Or in what robes of gold 

You perform a Sunday part. 

In the book above your giving 's told, 

Every nickle is therein scrolled ; 

And to your credit fair and nice 

Stands a pennyworth of paradise. 

What wUl you do with it ? 

Yon domain was never split 

Into so small a piece, 

Or writ in any lease, 

To accommodate the worldly wise 

Who purchase golden geese. 

To miss at last the skies. 

With heaven's chart before their eyes. 

All this dross will slip their hold — 

Then throw into the box your gold. 

And while you 're giving there, 

Remember others claim your care ; 

For beggars on the street 

Have but little bread to eat ; 

And some comforts given them. 

Will be sure to meet 

The reward of a diadem. 

Beyond the river's hem. 

When we 've changed thc'e hearts of ice 

For blest souls of paradise. 



CELESTIAL MIRAGE. 441 



CELESTIAL MIKAGE. 

There 's bloom upon the birchen spray, 
The hills of God are gilt with gray ; 
There 's sounds of celestial feet 
Marching on the heavenly street ; 
Keeping time, keeping tune, 
To the minstrels of the moou. 
Who hymn their Eden lays 
Where mortal never strays. 

There 's music in the air. 
Heavenly, floating every-where, 
From little barefoot's whistled tunes, 
From the planets and their moons. 
So majestic rolling on 
To the daylight and the dawn. 
Where the gilded gates of gold 
Shall open to all earth's fold. 

The rivers meandering run. 

In the brightness of the sun ; 

While a celestial gleam 

From the world unseen, 

Throws round its mystic spells, 

On mountains, hills, and dells. 

From adown the bars of light 

Which sometimes flash on mortal sight. 

The hills of God below 
Gleam and glisten with a glow, 



442 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

Shed from the heavenly artist divine, 
Surpassing pearl or ruby's shine. 
The air all calmly sleepeth, 
With no zephyr from the land of death- 
Surely the reign of heaven is here, 
For celestial seems the atmosphere. 

And myriads of angels fly, 

With robes of glory, through the' sky, 

Waving beautiful palms 

In their glowing hands, 

With crowns all bright and new, 

Tinted with the heav.enly hue. 

Falling in resplendent sheen 

On mountain, valley, stream. 

Some mystic presence now 
Walks down the mountain brow, 
Where righteous Moses stood 
Between the wicked and the good ; 
Bearing back to mankind 
Those holy hopes resigned, 
Which fled away from earth 
When Adam lost his heavenly birth. 



LINES TO F. 443 



LINES TO F. 

(on her eighteenth birthday.) 

Gentle friend, to me you seem 

To have grown, from a little girl at home, 
To a fair and stately queen, 

Whom a sovereign might delight to own. 

Upon this mild, December day. 

When life's fairies round you stand, 

As you walk from minority away, 

Eemember those who first held your hand, 

And, with a mother's kindly care, 

Tucked around your cozy bed 
The folded robes of comfort there. 

While your little prayer you said. 

Mark what the fleeting years have done. 
Bringing change and charm along. 

Since amidst that Summer's sun 

I first beheld you in the golden dawn. 

And how the glow of beauty now 
Sparkles round those liquid eyes, 

Shading thy mild, angelic brow 
With the light of paradise. 

Tho' you leave the home-sphere, 
Where friendships true are found, 



444 CMPBELL'S POEMS. 

Forget not that the parting tear 

Will move those who linger with grief profound. 

For many a plaything's token 

Will lie in the garret scattered, 
After the famUy circle's broken, 

Where your little feet have pattered. 

Tender hearts would stay your going 

To a royal mansion grander ; 
But then there is no knowing 

What is best when we speak with candor. 

Dear lady, one favor grant the writer — 
Pray do n't forget ten years of friendship ; 

'T will make his hesart the lighter. 
Should you kindly remember it. 

Tho' many a jest has been told 

In the heedless hour of fun, 
Sweet friendships form'd I 'd hold 

Until this life is done. 

And over on the crystal bar, 

When crowns the angels round are handing, 
'T will delight me to know you are 

Safe in the celestial circle standing. 

Then lady, take these simple lines. 

Please keep them for my sake ; 
Tho' rijde the meter and the rhymes. 

Thoughts of other days they may awake. 



THE BABE BY THE BROOK. 445 



THE BABE BY THE BROOK. 

One Summer morn, 

In the Xew England clime, 

I \?andered forlorn, 

Pondering on things divine. 

When down by a brooklet's side, 
There in the trampled grass, 

A little babe I spied, 
With no one near, alas. 

It was wrapped in a folding robe. 

Tied by a silken band ; 
Its little features glowed 

Like naiad of the strand. 

Its locks were wet with dew ; 

Its dimpled hands upraised 
Seemed imploring me to 

Help it, from where I gazed. 

It was a boy baby bright, 

Maybe three months old. 
Left by a sining mother's flight, 

For some one's finding on the wold. 

I took it to relatives kind of mine, 
Where it became the household pet, 

And no ruby's richest wine, 
Or diamond's fairest jet, 



446 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

Could purchase it away 

From the inmates of that home, 

Who loved it more each day, 
As it had older grown. 

Tho' a waif upon the wold, 

Deserted and alone, 
It found a loving fold. 

Who made it all their own. 

God knows who its mother is, 
And what its father's name. 

To gratify cousin Liz, 
We call it Willie Wane. 

Its hair is flaxen gold, 

Its eyes are liquid blue ; 
It seems not of the earthly fold, 

So angel-like to view. 

It prattles in its play, 

As other children will ; 
But this I 'm free to say, 

It seems diviner still. 

Preserved thro' the dews of night, 
Kept by the hand of God 

Under the rays of the Northern light. 
In the way I chanced to plod. 

Was it chance or charm 

That saved the little fondling ? 

Or was it God's almighty arm 

That kept it from the wavelet's wing ? 



THE BABE BY IHE BROOK. 447 

For the mother could, you know, 

When no eye did see, 
Have thrown it in the brooklet's flow, 

As well as left it on the lea. 

The power that rules the spheres 

Stayed that hand of sin, 
Agaiiist the eternal years, 

From turning the soul more dim. 

For tho' her life b^ hard, 

And her path the path of sin. 
To have drowned the babe would marr'd 

The soul more black within. 

And God, in his goodness, may 

Eeclaim that mother yet, 
For the world where endless day 

Gilds mount and parapet. 



448 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



FATHER JARDINE. 



NOTE. 

[Rev. Henry D. Jardine was for some time rector of St. Mary's 
Church, of Kansas City, Mo., and about forty-one years of age at his 
decease. It seems that a foundationless scandal had been circulated 
against " Father Jardine," as he was commonly called, being of the 
Episcopalian faith, by some designing and malicious persons; and 
that an ecclesiastical synod, after a hasty and imperfect hearing, held 
the accused "guilty." He appealed to the bishop presiding for "a 
new trial," which was refused. After talking with his attorney and 
one or two other friends, until a late hour on Sy turday night, January 
the 9th, 1886, he bade them "good night; " went to a drug-store and 
purchased a vial of chloroform; returned to the vestry of the church, 
where he had been in the habit of sleeping since his troubles, and 
saturating his handkerchief with the drug, laid down to the sleep of 
death, from which he never awoke. Before noon of the next day 
it was discovered that he had taken a "last appeal" to the bar of 
his God.— C] 



Ye may gather round him now, 
And brush the death-damp from his brow ; 
Ye may ask the gods to forgive his sin, 
As the angels hand his last libation in : 
But this will not erase from your soul. 
When the judgment bell doth toll, 
Your insatiate sin's dark stain, 
For driving him to this act insane. 

Human fortitude was never meant 
To survive the world's discontent ; 
When all the hell-hounds of our race 
One soul to death doth chase, 



FATHER JARDINE. 449 

Be it human or divine, 

Pure or stained with crime, 

The thread of nature must give way, 

When mad malice rules the day. 

If his priestly robes be stained, 

And he the shrine of God profaned, 

Are you less censurable, 

For sending a soul from earth to hell, 

By goading it on to doom 

Thro' the doorway of an earthly tomb. 

When God might have given further time 

To atone for his follies and his crime ? 

It matters but little to Father Jardine 
The venting of your spite or spleen ; 
For now beyond your maligning talk 
His soul doth supernal pathways walk, 
Where the sheen of celestial things 
Is reflected back from angel wings ; 
And the Eternal Judge of right 
Passes on the hue of the soul's blight. 

It may be some comfort to know 

That you chased him from the world below. 

As hounds pursue a fleeting deer 

Over byways bleak and drear, 

Wounding with malicious darts 

Till the soul and body parts : 

But is it such a record as you 'd wish to meet 

At the judgment bar on the golden street? 

And what if he should stand, 
Acquitted by the Lord Jehovah's command, 
(38) 



450 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

Before his accusers there, 

When the last judgment's given nice and fair? 

Ah ! then some consternation might 

Fall on your self-righteous sight, 

Which would burn into your bosom's core 

As painful as did the load of scorn he bore. 

Each mortal of this sphere 

Was placed by the sanction of High Heaven here 

For a purpose and an end ; 

And not that mischief-making malice might rend 

The tender tissues of the soul divine, 

Before the ripened harvest time, 

When the sickle of Death doth sever 

This dual mystery forever. 



A MERRY MORTAL. 45I 



A MERRY MORTAL. 



NOTE. 

[Some of the author's numerous acquaintances will, doubtless, re- 
member the character herein described. He was a merry wight 
while he lived "down here below," but what of his future? Who 
knows ?— C] 



One Jarco Jaquish 

Was a merry sort of wight ; 
He lived alone for bliss, 

And what he could get out of delight. 

He ofttimes ran 

The course of pleasure round, 
Till he came where he began, 

When his mirth was drown'd. 

He was an ancient chip, 

Knotted and knarled somewhat, 

He could the best of the brewing sip, 
And outdo woman in a chat. 

He 'd laugh till he could n't see, 

If a girl got soft on him ; ' 
Rhpning some love-melody 

'Neath the moonlight dim. 



452 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

His legs were stumpy -like, 
His body large and round ; 

In the deep well of delight 
He every care had drown'd. 

His face was ruddy red, 

His lips like ruby pearls ; 
He somehow got it in his head 

This came from kissing the girls. 

When others to a funeral went, 
Weeping along in solemn flow, 

His wildest merriment 
Was always sure to flow. 

And in Winter, when the ice 
Was broken for baptismal work, 

Like a fiend in paradise 
Jarco got in his work. 

For he 'd stand on the bank and laugh, 

Shivering like a fool, 
When the preacher with his staff" 

Led in some urchin of the school. 

And when the courts convened, 
He dressed up like a judge. 

And laughed and fairly screamed 

When "a hung jury" would n't budge. 

Was a wedding grand to be. 
He came out like a groom, 

And with hi^ stock of frivolity. 
He was foremost in the room. 



A MERRY MORTAL. 453 

Sometimes he interposed objection 

Just as the priest arose, 
Flying to the maid's protection, 

Before the clasps did close, 

Which was sure to set 

The bridemaids a scolding, 
The bridegroom in a fret, 

And the mints of gossip molding. 

At a revival meeting. 

Where some sinners fall. 
Just as the preacher was repeating . 

His exhortation call, 

He 'd waddle to the front, 

With his grinning face. 
And with a sort of grunt. 

He'd ask for " a bit of grace." 

At a picnic in the woods. 

When the j^riest was talking over hash. 
He often raised the fudes, 

Bj upsetting the table with a crash. 

Ajid in July's prime. 

When the cannons were a popping. 
With cutter and horses nine, 

He went to Boston trotting. 

And at the hour of night, 

Near a graveyard lone. 
He 'd dress himself in white 

To frighten the folks affoinsc home. 



454 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

There wasn't a country dance 

Where he did n"t win some fellow's girl, 

By his eyelid's twinkling glance, 
Which set their heads atwirl. 

Wrapped in a cloak of fire red, 
When mourners stood around, 

He 'd waltz into the chamber of the dead 
With mimic mirth and sound. 

When the crown'd heads did meet 

In capitol or hall, 
He 'd jump upon his feet 

And bellow at the wall. 

In short, let me say, 

None could resist his mirth, 

In coming or going away, 
At death or at birth. 

ISTo kith or kin had he, 

No trade or trick to do, 
Mirth and Frivolity, 

These twin sisters he did woo. 

Never was seen upon his face 

A shade or sorrowful hue, 
Of slightest, glimmermg trace. 

For near a century through. 

And when at last he fell, 

As all of us must go. 
On the night-air's swell 

His soul pois'd with mirthful flow. 



A MERRY MORTAL. 455 

But where this wight may stop 
In the other world, I can not tell ; 

If with the devils he must hop, 
There 'U be some fun in hell. 

For he wont stand there, 

Where the brimstone's shoveling 

In the firelight's fitful glare, 

Without some word of grumbling. 

And should he get above 

With the stock he carried hence, 

He may fill that land of love 
With mirth's frank-incense. 

For souls like his, 

Within that happy sphere, 
It seems most likely is 

AUowed to laugh throughout the year 



456 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



A SOUL IN PERIL. 

A HUNDRED years ago to-night, 

When the lamps of heaven were lit, 
Three holy angels, with crowns of light. 

Were seen from Eden's gates to earthward flit, 
To save a soul that was downward going. 

When the flush of youth was fair, 
And his wavy ringlets round him flowing 

Broke in glorious splendor there. 

The devil, arrayed in mock majesty, 

With imps and heralds in line, 
Accosted those angels of purity. 

Saying, "Away, this soul is mine," 
And formed his heralds there 

Into a sort of circle round. 
That those messengers of air 

Might not enter the charmed bound. 

This youth of goodly mien 

Seemed more elated with the devil's art 
Than with the angels pure of heavenly sheen. 

Whose first appearing gave him a little start. 
But ever and anon they beckoned him, 

With loving looks and smiles. 
To leave the pathway of sin 

And the devil's horrid wiles. 

The angels followed on afar 

Along the broad and widening way, 



A SOUL jy PERIL. 457 

Till they lost sight of every star, 

And heaven's faintest ray, 
Ever soft and fondly calling 

With voices of tenderest love : 
"Forsake the way you're falling 

For the path that leads above." 

But, no, stay or halt in sin 

Till the very door of hell was opening, 
And the imps had pushed him well nigh in, 

When the angels burst within the ring : 
Then followed a battle dire ; 

On one side truth and right, 
Upon the other a million imps of fire ; 

But the angels held the battle's site. 

For the glory of the sheen. 

Which brightly broke from their crowns. 
Frightened the devils large and lean 

Away with scores of conscience wounds. 
Meantime the youth fled in haste 

From that gate of dread below. 
Resolving, without a moment's waste. 

That to Mount Zion he would go. 

The angels gave the heavenly chart 

Into his eager hands. 
And, for a little space apart. 

Urged him to join the celestial bands ; 
But before they left 

They gave him a coat of mail, 
That no devil's dart e'er cleft 

Since Emmanuel did prevail. 
(39) 



458 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

Long years after this, 

When the bells of heaven were ringing, 
A soul came to the gate of bliss, 

Heaven's psalmody singing, 
And presented the shining chart 

Which the angels gave away. 
Near the devil's mart. 

Where they conquered in the affray. 

And St. Peter, with a smile. 

Turned back the golden gate, 
Bidding him welcome the while. 

Saying, " It never is too late." 
A shout within was heard, 

And songs of bliss arose ; 
But what further there occurred 

Pray ask some one who knows. 



MEXADA WICE. 459 



MENADA WICE. 

[a song.] 

There lives in a lovely vale 
A maiden fair and frail. 
Where the ]Miami winds a'svay, 
Sparkling bright thro' all the day ; 
And more than tAvice 
I 've kissed those ruby lips, 
Which seem like delicious sips 
From the river of paradise. 

This maiden loves to rest 

Her head upon my breast, 

As the sun glides do-svn the day 

Into the beyond world away. 

I 'd rather meet my ]Menada Wice 

On the fair Miami's strand. 

Than to receive out of an angel's hand 

A bunch of flowers from paradise. 

Heaven is in the kisses she gives. 
Her every sigh in my bosom lives ; 
For a band of golden seeming, 
With every link agleaming, 
Doth encircle our waists twice, 
With fetters forged above. 
Out of God's own love, 
In the land of paradise. 



460 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

1 11 pray to the love-god Eros, 

As o'er this sea my bark doth toss, 

While a thrill of life remains, 

Pulsating in these human veins. 

To be allowed a long and lengthened trice 

In which to worship evermore 

This maid of the Miami shore. 

When we 're transported to paradise. 



LADY AV LING. 461 



LADY AULING. 

'TwAS on a May morning, 

The finest morn of all, 
When lovely Lady Auling 

Invited me to her hall — 

Hall of silver'd tissues, 

So golden and so grand, 
Where bright, amber dishes 

Sparkl'd on every hand. 

On a velvet sofa there, 

Quaintly carv'd and fine, 
I kissed the lovely lady fair — 

She gave me kisses back for mine. 

There was an angel's glance 
In the depths of her liquid eye. 

Which pierced my bosom like a lance. 
When the parting came anigh. 

O ! cruel it was to leave 

This lady for another. 
Pining there alone to grieve — 

But so it is the world over. 

Man wearies with the rose 
And with the thistle down ; 

And no living mortal knows 

What puts the mischief in his crown. 



462 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 



THE ARISTOCRAT. 

It chills me, it kills me, 

It freezes'my soul, 
To see the aristocrat 

Out for a noontide stroll, 

So haughty and lordly. 

On the grand avenue ; 
Not deigning to greet us common folk ; 

That is, me and you. 

Majestic and mighty. 

Onward he swings ; 
Or a look of disdain 

Back she flings, 

As a proper rebuke, 

At the small fry, 
Who happen to fall 

Under the glance of her eye. 

Cold, gloomy, and grand, 
Wrapped in his own conceit. 

Is the aristocrat proud. 

Whether on byway or street. 

And the breeze that sweeps past 

Falls on to us cold, 
Like a glacier of the North 

Into the Southern zone rolled. 



THE ARISTOCRAT. 463 

The air seems crisj) to the sense, 

The ground sounds hollow and dead, 

When the aristocrat unasked, 
Comes round to be wed. 



He thinks a maiden must know 

How to w^orship a man of his buUd, 

When his comfortless talk 
Hath the heart in her killed. 

And when he goes out to ride 

With the barouche and the grays. 

The peoj)le for miles all around 
Speak never a word in his praise. 

Alone, all alone, alone, 

In his grandeur lives he. 
Without a friend to come near, 

Save some two or three. 

No one misses him gone, 

No one wishes him here. 
Save the priest in his chapel, 

Seeking grace once a year. 

He turns up his nose 

At the food on the table, 
Try to please him you may. 

As much as you 're able. 

The world running round 
Is too small for his keeping. 



464 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

He thinks the gods from the spheres 
On his head now are peeping. 

Oh! aristocrat, aristocrat, 
Let me tell you this truth : 

For all the pride in the world 

I would n't give a day of my youth. 



A TRIBUTE. 465 



A TKIBUTE TO THE LADIES' TEMPERANCE 

UNION, 

(of BRIDGEPORT, KANSAS.) 

Young ladies of the land, 
To your guiding hand 

The future destiny of our race 

May owe its place ; 
For the traffic at our doors 
In devastation pours, 

Much to man's disgrace. 

The sparkling cup allures away 
From paths of honor day by day, 
Step by step downward going, 
While the beverage is flowing 
From decanters of shining hue, 
With its poison hid from view, 
The seeds of sorrow sowing. 

Many an immortal soul 

Hath been ruined by the bowl. 
Many a home heaven blest 
Hath been blighted and distress'd, 

By those specters of ill-fate, 

Which round about us wait, 
That God's angels do detest. 

But more respectable now, 
By a mistaken policy somehow, 



466 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

Under the guise of a " jDermit " 

Druggists sell and barter it, 
For the chimes of the gold it brings, 
In spite of the hearts it stings, 

And in their pews on Sunday sit. 

Ladies of the temperance union 

You confer on man a boon, 

When you point him to a better life 
Than this wasting, wretched strife — 

This ruin of the soul. 

This missing the eternal goal, 
This suicide of child and wife. 

Never hath the serpent's blight 
Given to man as dark a night 
As Bacchus ^'^ earthward bore 
When he brewed wine upon our shore, 
And filled life's sparkling urns 
With drops that soul and body burns, 
Thrilling with deadly anguish evermore. 

Ladies of the temperance league 
A friend to you these lines may read. 
Contributed by a feeble han<l, 
Too feeble to drive this evil from the land ; 
But as against your love and skill, 
Man can 't resist a woman's will ; 
Then be firm, united stand. 



*Bacchus-the god of Wine,— Greet and Roman mythology. 



THREADS OF GOLD. 467 



THEEADS OF GOLD. 

Amid the web of life 

We weave each day, 
In the glooms of poverty and strife 

Or in the sun's meridian ray 
Some threads of gold are seen, 

Some gleams of brightness break 
From the world of light between 

This and the dreadful lake. 

The shuttles ever fly 

With a hollow sort of sound. 
Under the Eternal's eye 

And the millions that stand around ; 
And if more threads of gold 

Are seen to run along 
The wondrous fabric's fold. 

Against the celestial dawn, 

Than the woof which sin presents. 

Holy angels with their greeting. 
Will re-echo the judgment accents 

Thro' the ages onward fleeting : 
"Enter thou blessed in 

To the joys of life prepared ; 
The Savior forgave your sin, 

When for my hungry ones ye cared." 

No day so dim but brings the sun 
With joy and bliss untold : 



468 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

No web so dark but thro' it run 
Some bright threads of gold. 

To no cot of pain however sore 
But comes a last release, 

And sweet rest forever more, 
If with God we make o\ir peace. 

The harbor lights still burn 

Amid the gathering gloom ; 
By the eye of faith we may discern 

A- realm of bliss beyond the tomb. 
Beyond the narrow cells. 

Beyond the dreamless state, 
Soft ambrosia! breezes swell 

Thro' the land of God immaculate. 

Oh ! wondrous Providence Divine, 

What self-adjusting springs 
Of never-ending life is Thine, 

In the sphere of eternal things? 
'T is enough ; we need no further test. 

Thou hast ordered all things well ; 
Let the threads of gold we weave attest 

Our right in heaven to dwell. 



THE DISAPPOINTED SERAPHIM. 469 



THE DISAPPOINTED SERAPHIM. 

Adown the golden bars of even 
Two seraphim winging came ; 

They alighted in ancient Eden, 
That garden fair of fame. 

One's name was Emphameldon, 
The other's Celestilane. 

They left the gate of heaven behind 
To join the Adamic pair, 

Who were of happy mind. 
And almost like angels rare ; 

But sadder sighed the wind 

Than they 'd ever known it there ; 

For oft they 'd come before 
To roam the garden through, 

From that far-off heavenly shore, 
When they 'd nothing else to do ; 

But now, alas, forevermore, 
They the gai den hardly knew. 

Deserted was its walks, 

The dews of death were there ; 
And thro' its border stalks 

Shades of frightful stare ; 
Every faded flower mocks 

The fragrance once so rare. 



470 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

The tread of a horrid form 

Frightened the seraphim away ; 

While the whirlwind's storm 
Broke wrathful on the way, 

Making the atmosphere glow warm 
With livid lightning's play. 

Uprising on the winds of the wind, 
A glance back they flung, 

To see the pair who had sinned 
And the foul mischief done ; 

Then the fig-leaves were pinned 
And over their bodies hung. 

Back to heaven the seraphim went, 

Winging sorrowful sad ; 
And in the realm of light gave vent 

To griefs that were driving them mad. 
Then was chanted a lament. 

For the celestials felt bad. 

Thus blight upon the earth. 

And deep sorrow above. 
Gave place to death and dearth, 

And mournful lays of love, 
Because Satan's foul birth 

Deformed the first dove. 

These seraphim were the last 
That out of heaven come. 

When the full truth had pass'd, 
Which took the life of its Son, 

To bear away the vast. 
Mischief Satan had done. 



HYMN TO LIGHT. 471 



HYMN TO LIGHT. 

God said, ' ' Let there be light." 

The darkness sped away ; 
Instant on the rapturous sight 

Open swung the gates of day. 

The glory of the world's new morning 
Broke forth from heaven's shrine, 

All the mountain-tops adorning 
With blest light divine. 

Angels spotless from the fold, 
Strayed from empyreal heights, 

Out from the gates of gold, 
To see the Avorld's new sights. 

The lilies smiled like love ; 

The rose's crimson breast 
Made contrast with the spotless dove. 

The sight was heavenly, blest. 

The skylark of the morn 

Poured forth her pensive lays 

To the world's new dawn, 
In God's supremest jDraise. 

Time, space, the boundless deep, 
Broke from then* former trice : 

The world and all creation's sweep 
Put on the hues of Paradise. 



472 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

Then shall we, the sons of God, 

Stray thro' all this light and bloom ? 

And, like dumb, driven cattle, j^lod, 
Christless, creedless, to the tomb ? 

Hark ! the notes of the sounding lyre 

Struck by angel hands, 
^/ome floating from the heavenly choir, 

Singing in the sun-lit lands. 

The music moves the soul within 
With a firmer, freer power, 

To conquer Death and sin 
In the last dread hour. 

Then praise ye lands and sing, 
The night of doubt is gone ; 

Praise our heavenly King 
For the bright eternal dawn. 



CUPID. 473 



CUPID. 

Once a lonely-looking urchin, 

Lost in a deep morass, 
With crippled foot and wing, 

Pleaded for a ride as I did pass. 
My steeds were dapple-gray, 

The harness it was sHver-trininied ; 
The sun's meridian ray 

Bound my equipage it swimmed. 
With kindly care I helped him up 

On to a cushioned seat of gold. 
He gave a sort of " cluck" 

As o'er the road we rolled. 

I had some liniment, you see, 

With which I bathed his foot and wing. 
He had a bow and quiver free. 

But disordered was the string. 
Not far upon the road 

This urchin he grew talkative ; 
And his merriest laughter flowed 

Like water thro' a sieve, 
Till all at once he ceased to speak, 

And moody grew of mind ; 
A tear went trickling down his cheek, 

The cause it puzzled me to find. 

Said I: "My little man 

What trouble now doth flow ? " 
(40) 



474 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

"Pray help me if you can, 

For useless is my bow ; 
You see, kind sir, 

The string it is misplaced ; 
There are some birds astir, 

With it I could fill thy bag in haste." 
Mine was a hunting rig 

As fine as fine could be ; 
I did n't care a fig 

For any rival's archery. 

I put upon his bow a string, 

And keyed it up with care ; 
He took an arrow from his sling 

And shot me with it fair. 
The painful point within my heart 

Found lodgment true. 
He vaulted from my cart 

And went laughing out of view. 
My horses frighteu'd they became, 

The lines fell flapping in the wind ; 
The wound was driving me insane, 

I howled, and cursed, and sinned. 

For many a rood my horses ran, 

Free where'er they chose ; 
Till sudden they did stand 

Where a river darkling flows ; 
Here a water-witch was seen 

To sweep like a vision by. 
She was ugly, lank, and lean, 

With a vicious looking eye. 
But she took the shaft away 

Out of my heart so wounded, ! 



CUPID. 475 

And this simple line did say, 
" Never fix a broken bow." 

iSoon I journeyed safer on 

And gained my bermitage in time 
To see the sun rise o'er the lawn, 

Veiled in mists sublime. 
Once or twice since then 

This urchin I have seen ; 
But never aided him again, 

Por I feared his foolish spleen. 
There 's something in his eye 

That 's pleasant after all ; 
But on my word you may rely, 

You can tru^t him not at all. 

For when you most would pity him, 

And comfort all his woes. 
If you but let him in 

The mischief no one knows 
That this urchin he will make, 

Shooting shining arrows keen 
The moment love 's awake, 

To gratify his sjsleen. 
But what will a body do ? 

Die at this archer's hand. 
Or wither up and float from view. 

Without a mate in all the land ? 



476 CAMPBELUS POEMS. 



UNDER THESE DREAMY SKIES. 

(an ITALIAN AIR.) 

Under these dreamy skies 

In this earthly paradise, 

Maidens love with diviner sighs 
Than in our Northern homes, 
Where the cold wind moans 

Over miles of floating ice. 

Oh ! thou beloved Italy, 
Land of the Adriatic sea, 
Favored of the Deity, 

No fairer heaven 

To man is given 
'Round earth's inequality. 

I float upon the Tiber, 

With every finer fiber 

Of my mind grown wider. 
Under the genial airs, 
Which steal about me unawares 

From the good Provider. 

The lovely hues of Eden 

Which artists feed on, 

Break thro' the early dawn, 
The same at noon 
And 'neath the moon, ' 

When the day is gone. 



UNDER 1HESE DREAMY SKIES. 4^1 

If from the celestial sphere 
Friends I hold dear 
Could be admitted here, 

Never heaven were sweeter 

To saint or seeker, 
Than Italy thro' all the year. 



478 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 



THE ISLES OF THE AERALIES. 

Away in the wastes 

Of the waters so far, 
Where Time nevei' hastes, 

The Isles of the Aeralies are ; 
Where the Southern Ocean doth spread 

Its warm wavelets around. 
There the swan kingdom, 't is said, 

May be found. 

'T is governed by Tankeelan, 

A white, beautiful bird ; 
Just how I do n't understand, 

Nor yet have I heard. 
There love moves the flocks, 

'Tis said, with obedient will, 
To list while he talks 

Thro' his red downy bill. 

There are twenty islets or more 

Which float with the breeze. 
Hither and thither, away from the shore, 

Which I 've named the Aeralies ; 
For once on a vessel well manned. 

While sailing for the Australian coast, 
This swan-peopled kingdom at hand 

Seem'd fair as the Paradise host. 

The swans and the swallows are there. 
The goldfinch and wren, 



THE ISLES OF THE A ERA LIES. 479 

lu the Isles of the Aeralies fair, 
And are never molested by men. 

'Tis a kingdom of happiness, 
Bright to be seen, 

Whei-e love's sweet shadow of bliss 
Keigns ever supreme. 



480 CAMPBELL S POEMS. 



DARK THE BILLOWS. 

(Written during a storm at sea.) 

Dark the billows, black the sky, 

Angry rolls the sea ; 
If in this tempest I should die, 

What will become of me ? 

Chorus. — O there ! O there ! 

See the lightning's glare 
Along the verge of infinity. 

Would the soul from its prison break 

Up blithesome, cheerily ! 
Or the downward pathway take, 

Wearily, drearily? 

Cho. — O there ! there ! etc. 

Would the lifeless body waste away 

Under the deej), green sea, 
With the soul in lands of day. 

If death should come to me ? 

Cho. — O there! O there! etc. 

My bounding bark reels on apace. 

O dismal is the sea ; 
The storm-king's angry face 

Is looking now at me. 

Cho. — there ! there ! etc. 



DARK THE BILLOWS. 481 

Dismal is the elemental crash, 

Crashing so dreadfully ; 
Fearful is the ocean's lash. 

Lashing so mournfully. 

Cho.— O there ! O there ! 

See the lightning's glare 
Along the verge of infinity. 

(41) 



482 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 



''KISSING BRIDGE." 

Kissing in Pindar's time 

Was counted a bliss divine : 

New York City has its ' ' Kissing Bridge/^ 

Near Fifth street, on the little ridge, 

And the only toll exacted at the gate, 

Whether passing early, passing late. 

Is a kiss from loving lips. 

As the vehicle undei* the archway tips. 

Once, I mind me now 

(It came about, no matter how), 

At the further end of " Baker's Bridge," 

I stole a kiss from Katie Midge, 

While riding out one pleasant eve, 

From care and biz I 'd taken leave, 

Not so much as a matter of toll 

As a sort of soother to my soul. 

Next eve she invited me 

To take a ride down by the Smoky : 

And as we went apast the bridge. 

What do you think? Miss Katie Midge 

Said, " The toll you have forgot." 

I kiss'd her on the spot, 

And oft returned in the evening time 

To press those lips divine. 

Miss Katie Midge and me 

Have named it ' ' Kissing Bridge," you see, 



"KISSING BRIDGE." 483. 

As an aid to bashful boys and girls, 

To prink'd-up prudes and powder'd cburls, 

Who take a pleasure drive that way, 

For a kiss is all the toll 's to pay ; 

And counting one at either end, 

Two you get as out and back you wend. 

It must be a terrible strain 

On the timbers, terraces, and chain ; 

For the travel which passes night and day 

Has worn the j)lanks away ; 

But don't be alarmed, ye gallants true, 

The bridge has just been plank'd anew. 

And 't is a shady road to go. 

Beyond the line of Lady Gossip O. 

The livery men are glad. 

Only the married men are sad 

That their wives do n't send them out that way 

To fill the beds with hay ; 

For it is the most popular bridge 

On this side the Smoky Ridge. 

Oh ! 't is pleasant, I declare, 

A kiss is the only toll exacted there. 



484 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 



THERE IS A GOD. 

There is a God ; 

Every mortal on this earth, 
Every animal of the sod 

That has life or birth, 
Proclaims there is a God. 

There is a God ; 

Every drop of dew, 
Every amber-lighted rod, 

Every sunbeam too, 
Proclaims there is a God. 

There is a God ; 

Every star in heaven, 
Every beggar's plod. 

Every sinner shriven, 
Proclaims there is a God. 

There is a God ; 

Every breath of wind, 
Every wink and nod, 

Every tree's unfolding rind. 
Proclaims there is a God. 

There is a God ; 

Every minstrel of the wood, 
Every workman with his hod. 

Every member of the sainthood. 
Proclaims there is a God. 



THERE IS A GOD. 485 

There is a God ; 

Every pulse of life, 
Every heart's applaud 

Thro' the daily round of strife. 
Proclaims there is a God. 

There is a God ; 

Every act and thought 
Which our lives record. 

In high or lowly lot, 
Proclaims there is a God. 

There is a God ; 

Every thunder-sound, 
Every foot and rod 

This world around, 
Proclaims there is a God. 

There is a God ; 

Every finer sense, 
Every heart-throb, 

Every soul's suspense. 
Proclaims there is a God. 

There is a God ; 

Every truth that's told 
By priest in sandals shod. 

Whether poor or trimmed in gold, 
Proclaims there is a God. 

There is a God ; 

Every breath and sigh. 
Every painful prod, 

Eveiy angel of the sky. 
Proclaims there is a God. 



486 CAMPBELLS POEMS. 

There is a God ; 

Every flower that blooms, 
Every bursting pod 

In sunshine or in glooms, 
Proclaims there is a God. 

There is a God ; 

Every death and birth, 
Every blood-stained sod. 

Every flood and dearth, 
Proclaims there is a God, 

There is a God ; 

Every soul that dies 
Passes under the rod 

To judgment in the skies, 
Proclaiming there is a God. 



THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN SONGSTRESS. 487 



THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN SONGSTRESS. 

Lost on the mountains, 

I rambl'd late, 
Past nature's fountains, 

Where few mortals wait, 
Wasting life for gold ; 

While oh my ear, 

Thro' the twilight clear, 
This song was told : 

"Stranger, would'st thou see 

My kingdom's portals fair? 
Then follow me 

Up this winding stair. 
Over these steps of gold. 

O, never fear, 

I 'm mistress here. 
And have been this century old. 

"In my castle thou 

May'st play with love ; 
For on my brow _ 

A light shines from above, 
Down from the angel fold. 

O, never fear, 

I'm mistress here. 
And have been this century old. 

" Geniis bring me wine. 
Peris flit around ; 



488 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

I'll cheer that soul of thine 
With psalmody profound 

As ever mortal told. 
O, never fear, 
I'm mistress here, 

And have been this century old 

"I'll feed thee on golden fishes 

With bright silver fins, 
Out of Love's own dishes, 

Till the day begins, 
Sheltered from the cold. 

O, never fear, 

I 'm miirftress here. 
And have been this century old." 

As the last accents fell. 
Uprising from the snows, 

I wandered out of the dell, 
Sorrowing o'er my woes. 

Away from that lone wold ; 
While on my ear. 
Thro' the dawning clear. 

This song was told. 



THE SECRETS OF THE SANDS. 489 



THE SECEETS OF THE SAKDS. 



NOTE. 

[Margaret Eberling's peculiar death has excited the people of Bay- 
onue City, N. J. She was an exceptionally heauliful girl, twenty-two 
years old, and liad only been in this country about a year. When she 
was induced to leave her native land, it was with the expectation of 
having a happy and pleasant home with her uncle, William Farr, 
President of the Bayonno Common Council and a wealthy man. 

Instead of meeting with the reception she anticipated, she was, it 
appears, soon made to understand that the proper thing for young 
women to do was to be independent and support themselves. The 
girl felt sad at this reception, but made no complaint and sought a 
position as servant in the family of Dr. Hugelsber. She remained 
there until about a month ago, when she accepted a situation with 
Mrs. Meyer, the proprietress of a bakery. 

Soon al'tcr she commenced work there she met Charles Jackie, a 
barber, whose place of business was adjoining. The two became 
well acquainted, and on several occasions took walks together. 

On Septembe:: 6th (1885), she was taken sick, but was not seriously 
affected until the next Saturday. She was unable alter that to do any 
housework. Dr. Sage was consulted, and he said she was suffering from 
malaria and a liver trouble. Next Wednesday morning the pale but 
beautiful girl arose and said to Mrs. Meyer that she would like to go 
out in the fresh air. This was the last time that lady saw her alive. 

Next Thursday morning she was found by August Gnnder, a four- 
teen-year old boy, lying on the shore, twelve feet away from the edge 
of the water. She was dead. 

The lad ran to the beat patrolled by Policeman Russell and told him 
of the discovery he had made. The officer hastened to the place and 
saw at once that the woman had been for several hours in the water. 
When found she was lying on her face, which was partially buried in 
the sand. The white, worsted shawl that she had worn was over her 
head, and looked as if the tide had left it in that position. Some of 
her other garments were much disarranged. Her hat was gone, and 
had probably been carried away with the tide. The body was taken 
to the house of Charles Farr, another uncle, and was viewed there by 
the county physician. — P. G.] 



490 CAMPBELL'S POEMS. 

What is that so frail and fair 

In the sands half buried there ? 

It is the body of Margaret Eberling, 

Fair as a lily of the Spring, 

Left by the receding tide, 

Where she gasped, and chocked, and died — 

Died because the world was cold, 

And hearts as hard as hoarded gold ; 

Died of the wound she felt in her soul, 

Died at night in a watery goal, 

Where naught but the wave of the lonely beach 

Heard her last gurgled speech. 

Her face half buried in the sand ; 

On her head a scarf-like turban band ; 

With garments sadly disarranged, 

When the tide from shore to seaward ranged ; 

But then her soul was freed 

By the waves in their hungry greed. 

And only the sands can tell 
The secrets of the dying spell, 
Which never will be fully known 
Till the ages all hath flown. 
And the recording angel reads 
The record of her earthly deeds. 

Far over the water she came 

To greet a kindred's name ; 

But under the water she lay 

When that kindred turned from her away ; 

And only the sands may know 

The full anguish of her woe. 



THE SECRETS OF THE SANDS. 491 

The sauds kissed her face, 

Wooing her to their embrace ; 

Their pebbly Avhiteness close 

Round the burden of her woes ; 

But the harsh petals of the sand 

May have been smoothed by an angel's hand ; 

For her last earthly pillow, 

As the hungry billow 

Bore her soul on its bosom far 

From where her kinship's j)ossessions are, 

Perchance beyond the gate away, 

Where sinless vistas lead to day. 

The sands of many an ocean's head 

Could, if they were rightly read, 

Tell a million tales of woe. 

Which would change the bosom's flow 

Into a current of frozen ice. 

Barring many selfish ones from paradise. 

Keep your secrets, sands. 
Locked secure within a million strands, 
Until the day of reappearing comes, 
And the soul of purity shuns 
Contact with the misers of our race, 
And Jehovah assigns to each their place. 



OPINIONS OF TEE PRESS. 493 



"THE POETICAL WOEKS 

OP 

JOHN PRESTON CAMPBELL." 

TOPEKA, KANSAS: 

Geo. W. Ckank & Co., Printers and Binders. 

1885. 



OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 

Only a few days ago a new Kansas book was noticed in these col- 
umns, and now comes another applicant for public favor in the shape 
of a handsome book of poems of 244 pages, by John Preston Camp- 
bell, a practicing attorney mi Abilene. We have had many works by 
Kansas men who live in the eastern and older portions of the state, 
but Mr. Campbell is the first aspirant for literary fame who hails from 
central Kansas. The principal part, "The Valley of Visions," is a 
choice bit of fancy, though it would be difficult to select any one of 
tlie many poems comprising this book and say it is the best. There 
is an absence of shallow sentimentality, and the presence of deep 
thought, that at once relieves and pleases the reader. 

Mr. Campbell may well be proud of this child of his, so richly 
dressed by George W. Crane & Co., of this city, Topeka. Collectors of 
Kansas books will secure this, not only to place on their shelves, but 
to read and re-read. It will be a favorite with all lovers of poetry.— 
The Kansas City Journal of June 14, 1SS5. 



The following appeared in Morning Register, Newark, New Jersey, 
June 20, 1885: 

A BOOK OF POETRY. 

We have received from Mr. J. P. Campbell, at present located at 
Abilene, Kansas, a volume of poetical works written by him and 
nicely published by Geo. W. Crane & Co., of Topeka, Kansas. Mr. 



494 CAMPBELL'S POEMS, 

Campbell says in his preface that " whether they reach the harbor of 
fame in safety or sink into oblivion and forgetfnlness," that no criti- 
icism nor sarcasm can deprive him of the pleasant hours spent in the 
production of the lines offered to the public in the volume. It must 
be confessed that Mr. Campbell's efforts are better than usually at- 
tends his who finds enough reward for his verses in the pleasure of 
writing them. Poets are born, not made, it is true; but the best of 
them have considered the question of pleasing those who are to con- 
stitute their audience, as well as themselves, in the work of produc- 
tion. We should infer, from a perusal of the work, that Mr. Camp- 
bell has been a careful reader of Emerson's poems. They contain 
the same irregularities of meter. Nor does the similitude end there, 
since some of the verses contain an indisputable beauty of imagery. 
We think that Mr. Campbell has done wisely in printing his verses; 
there are plenty of gold nuggets in them, which we trust will be 
digged out by numerous readers. 



The following was published in the Abilene Chronicle of June 4, 1885. 

THE SWEET SINGER OF ABILENE. 

We received, with the compliments of the author, John Preston 
Campbell, a handsome volume of poems. It is elegantly bound in 
morocco, well printed, and is an ornament to any drawing-room table. 
It was received too late for a critical review at this time, but a hurried 
glance tlirough its pages is enough to prove that it contains much of 
real merit. 

Poetry is the language of the soul, and while it has often been the 
lot of poets to be appreciated only after death, we fondly hope that 
Mr. Campbell's book may receive that consideration which its merits 
demand. 

The religious element is the strongest attribute of the soul, and ° 
religious poems m this volume show tliat, while he may not have the 
sublime faith of Watts or Charles Wesley, his .soul has been stirred to 
its utmost depths. Of this class of poems, we think "There is no Un- 
belief " stands at the head. 

Mr. Campbell is essentially a worker. To do well and with zeal and 
earnestness what he has to do, is the cause of his success in life, and 
we find th3 lesson well taught in " Life's Battles." 

One would take Mr. Campbell to be the most constant of men, but 
his poems show as great fickleness as do those of Moore, Byron, or 
Burns. Even before 

" Twenty ladies in a line 
Played the mischief with this heart of mine," 

He must have had many experiences. In one place he declares: 

" I linger at the stile, Mary, 

Because of the hope you bore, 



OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 495 

When fancy's fairy argos 

Landed at Love's shore, 
In the May-day of our Spring, 

As we iDuilded castles fair 
By the light of soft, celestial tapers 

Burning brightly in the air." 

In another place he tells of standing on the strand with a little Ger- 
man girl: 

"And in that soul eclipse. 
Love's mysterious thrill 
Mingled at the touching lips, 
As night settled on wood and hill." 

In writing of Annalee he says: 

" One lovely night in June, 
When nature's harp was all atune, 
I wandered o'er a distant glade, 
Arm in arm with a beauteous maid ; 
Methought so sinless and so fair, 
Naught on earth with her could compare. 
She seemed a seraph sent 
From heaven's high battlement, 
To be my earthly guide 
O'er this waste so wild and wide." 

Space will not permit us to even refer to all the ladies who have won 
a tribute from his pen; nor have we room at this time to do justice to 
his longer poems and patriotic poems. 



"THE POETICAL WORKS 

OF 

JOHN PRESTON" CAMPBELL," 
May be had by forwarding $2.00 to the printers, 

GEO. W. CRANE & CO., 

ToPEKA, Kansas. 



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